


Hermione Dagworth-Granger

by Caughtinblackseyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Again... this is AU so go with the flow and don't rip me a new one about canon, Bad Ass Hermione, Characters are shifted around to suit my story, F/M, Hermione is a Pure-blood and she looks nothing like what we're all used to, I am undecided, Lots of supportive friendships, Neville is NOT a loser, Not sure what the pairings will be, Suggestions welcome, The War and Voldie moght not be a main these, There may be some Dumbledore/Weasley Bashing, This is an AU fic, Timeline is blasted to hell and back, no flames, so don't bash me about, still considering it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-12-14 13:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caughtinblackseyes/pseuds/Caughtinblackseyes
Summary: Hermione is shocked to learn that the man she has always known as her father is actually her Squib uncle and that she was taken from the Wizarding World to keep her safe. It's time for her to return and take up the legacy of her true heritage. She's going to take Hogwarts by storm and drag along her friend Neville in the process.





	1. The Importance of Being Hermione

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS CAREFULLY, PLEASE
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter franchise and I make no money from my little scribbles

To say that Hermione Granger was nervous, would be a vast understatement. She sat alone in one of the cars of the Hogwarts Express fiddling with the hem of her tartan skirt. All her life, she’d known she was different. Her parents had known it as well. It was only after her third bout of accidental magic at the age of seven that they finally sat her down and explained exactly what she was and why she could do what she was doing.

Although the truth sounded odd to her ears, her heart knew that it was not a made up story and even more importantly, her magic knew it as well. The tingling and feeling of vibrating out of her skin had been built up magic tightening and coiling over and through her searching for a place to release itself. Apparently, her emotions had quite a bit to do with when that would occur but once she’d been trained properly, she’d gotten it under control much more quickly than even her parents had expected.

As they had been informing her of magic, witches and wizarding schools, they also told her another truth and this one had sent her reeling. Her parents weren’t really her parents! They loved her and she wasn’t to ever doubt that fact and they were family – an aunt and uncle respectively – but not her biological parents. Her parents had been killed. Murdered. They had refused to join a group of Blood-zealots and their leader and had paid the price.

Her aunt and uncle – that was going to take some getting used to – had then informed Hermione that her parents had prepared for the inevitable backlash of their refusal. With help, they had managed to smuggle Hermione out of the Wizarding World and into the hands of her Squib relative. They’d altered her appearance with spells, glamours and strong potions before enlisting the help of her father’s brother, Alex and his wife Helen.

The plan had been for her parents to lay low and eventually return for her, but such a thing had not come to fruition and so Hermione remained with her relatives in the Muggle World. It had been much to take in, but Hermione was intelligent for her age and absorbed information like a sponge.

“So, my parents are dead,” Hermione stated haltingly.

Nodding, Helen Granger solemnly agreed, “Yes, my darling, but they loved you with all the power that was in them which is why they chose to place you with us. They knew that you would be safe here. Alex was virtually disowned by his family when it was discovered that he was a Squib.”

“That’s awful,” Hermione exclaimed, face red with indignation.

“I wouldn’t say that I was disowned,” Alex stated calmly while ignoring his wife’s snort of derision. “It was common practice to leave the Wizarding Community if a Pure-blood was born without magic. It was a stain of great shame and most families had their Squib off-spring sent off to an orphanages as soon as the absence of a magical core was detected.”

Crossing her arms, Hermione breathed out angrily, “How could they do that?! Family is everything! You both taught me that!”

“It is,” Alex assured her gravely. “My brother thought so as well. My understanding was that when our father decided I was useless as far as magical tendencies and sought to have me shuffled out of the Wizarding World, he kicked up quite the fuss.”

A slightly sad smile graced the mans’ features as he continued, “Hector was a good ten years older and it wasn’t until I was almost your age that our father pushed the issue of abandoning me. By then, my brother was firmly ensconced as my hero and I followed him everywhere like a lost puppy. He was the best older brother any boy could ask for.”

“What happened,” Hermione asked, entranced.

“Hector broke away from the family and took me with him,” Alex explained. “By this time he was an adult by Wizarding standards and he was quite brilliant at potions and was making a remarkable name for himself. Our parents let him go without forcing the issue when he promised to make sure they stayed financially secure and that the name Dagworth-Granger would be carried on and would not die out. That’s a Pure-bloods’ biggest fear; that their House will come to an end.”

“How did you end up here,” Hermione asked with a frown. “If my father kept you with him, like you said.”

Rubbing his chin gingerly, Alex took a moment to reflect before answering. “That was my doing. As I got older, living in his world became more difficult. He did his best, bless him but he did. He hired tutors to teach me the basics since I couldn’t go to any of the Wizarding schools because they were for kids with magic. There in lay the problem, tutors and such taught magic and I needed non-magical tutoring but the statute of secrecy prevented him from bringing anyone here to teach me. When he finally realized how unhappy I was and educationally stunted, he relented and sent me to a regular school here.”

“So, you chose to leave,” Hermione asked carefully.

“Hermione, it was the most difficult choice of my life,” Alex insisted with great passion. “In a few years, you’ll receive your Hogwarts letter.” Grazing her cheek softly with his thumb, he added with an affectionate smile, “You’ll never know the devastating disappointment of not having an owl peck at your window carrying that letter like I did. I cried for days when it didn’t come. Poor Hector, I thought he’d go mad having to suffer through my grief.”

Throwing herself into his arms, Hermione cried vehemently into his chest, “It doesn’t matter a whit, daddy! I don’t care if I never get an old Hogwerts letter!”

Chuckling wetly while rubbing circles into her back, Alex corrected mildly, “Hogwarts, dearest. Not Hogwerts.”

“I don’t care,” came her muffled reply. “I don’t wanna go to some snooty magic school with a bunch of stupid kids to learn stupid magic and grow up to be a stupid witch! I wanna stay here with you and mummy!”

“And you shall, Hermione,” he assured her tenderly. “Right up until it’s time for you to board the train. Still, I think it might be a good idea to get you some formal training before then. When you enter Wizarding society you’ll need to know all of the proper things to say and do and it wouldn’t hurt to send you to someone to begin working on small spells and such so that you’re more prepared magically too. Pure-blood parents often teach their children from the cradle up just as you would have been, my darling.”

“Can I still you call you mummy and daddy?”

Alex’s heart broke at the lost, forlorn expression gracing Hermione’s little face. “Of course. You came to us as a baby and you’ve been ours since the day you were placed in my arms.”

Sniffling, Hermione looked to Helen and asked, “Are you a Squib too?”

“No, honey… I’m what’s called a Muggle which is a wizarding term for someone who has no magic at all and doesn’t live with other magical folk. If it weren’t for you, I’d never know anything about magic because of that statute in place to keep the magical world a secret from everyone else.”

Comprehension flooded Hermione instantly. “Is that why I’m so good at mixing things together? Cause my other daddy did potions? Will I have a Book of Shadows too?!”

“We have got to start monitoring your viewing habits, young lady,” Alex laughed while ruffling her hair. “You and your mum watch far too many reruns of “Charmed” for my liking, but to answer your question… that’s probably why. Hector was brilliant at anything he put his mind to but potion making was where he especially excelled. He became world-renowned.”

“You’re not too shabby on the mixing together of ingredients either, my love.”

Bestowing on his wife a smile that nearly took her breath away, he answered back, “It must be in the genes. Becoming a pharmacist was easy enough, I’ll grant you that and along with your dental practice being my best customer, I was guaranteed success.”

“Oh, you,” Helen admonished lightly, blushing. “Best day of my life was when my father started ordering from a barely out of school junior pharmacist. He may have gotten you started, but it was word of mouth that had everyone else banging down your door. You got where you are on your own merit.”

“Thanks, love,” was her husbands simple rejoinder but there was a world of feeling in those two words.

She knew that being cut off from his home-world still hurt and she often wondered if coming from a magical line, even with no magic of your own, still created a bond of some sort that couldn’t be broken. If so, it was unutterably cruel.

“I have some friends in the wizarding world,” Alex informed their daughter. “I think it’s time to contact them and begin your training. Okay?”

Hermione nodded in reluctant agreement.

“Hermione,” her daddy began tentatively. “Once you begin actively learning and utilizing your magic, other things will change too. They will have to in order for your magic to flow more naturally and easily.”

Hermione’s lip trembled. “What things,” she asked fearfully.

“Well, right now, you look a lot like mummy.”

Hermione’s gaze swung to her mum taking in the pleasing features, dark brown eyes and the curly hair almost the exact same shade as the troubled eyes staring back at her.

“Your real daddy put several spells on you called glamours as well as feeding you potions of his own devising in order to change what you look like, so that you’d be safe. He chose mummy’s looks because they were far enough away from our side of the family that no one would recognize you although you resemble your birth mother much more than my side of the family.”

“But I like the way I look,” Hermione said mutinously. “I don’t wanna look like someone else.”

Helen squatted down next to the little girl and said quietly, “I love that you want to keep looking like me, it makes me very happy to hear that.” Tucking a stray curl behind the shell of Hermione’s ear, she went on quietly, “But, daddy explained it to me and it seems that the magic inside you won’t work properly if you aren’t in your originally born form. You could get hurt or worse. Do you understand?”

Propping her head on her mothers’ shoulder, Hermione sighed and said quietly, “Okay.”

They had weaned her off of the potions, her daddy saying that since they’d been in her system for such a long time that doing it that way was the best way. None of the potions had hurt her or made her addicted to them, but they had bound some of her magic and he led Hermione to believe that if her biological father hadn’t, she would have had more powerful accidental burst of magic. The fact that she’d had any, was surprising.

After weeks of gradually lowering the dosage and then stopping them all together, they waited another two week before painstakingly lifting the glamours and when she was finally revealed as her true self, Hermione could hardly believe her eyes.

Gone was her pretty brown hair, just like mummy’s. Gone were her mummy’s eyes. Gone were the freckles that used to grace her nose and cheeks. Gone was everything she’d ever known of herself. To her parents dismay, she burst out into uncontrollable sobs, rushing from the room.

She’d heard her daddy say to mummy to let her go, that she needed to come to terms with her new identity. He’d been right. Hermione had stared at her reflection relentlessly trying to reconcile her old self with her new. Months went by before she felt that the person in the mirror was no longer a complete stranger.

“You are almost an exact replica of your mother although I can see Hector in the brow, nose and chin. She was considered one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the Wizarding world.” With a derisive twist to his lips, he added, “All the Black women were beautiful in their way, but Cassiopeia was as stunning on the inside as well as the outside. You take after her in that way too.”

Cocking her white-blonde head to the side, Hermione murmured, “Please tell me about them.”

Looking off into the distance, he said dreamily, “They’d been Sorted into different Houses and rarely came across one another. In earlier years, they didn’t have Potions class at the same time. It was only in their Fifth Year that Slytherins and Ravenclaws began sharing that particular subject. Your mother was a class-A student and she became a Potions Mistress in her own right. I think that was one of the things that drew them together. Intellectually they were ideally suited.”

“You really liked her, didn’t you?” Hermione asked, curiosity swimming in the light blue orbs so like her mothers.

Blushing like a school boy, he confessed, “I had the biggest crush on her. I was a silly, young lad but she was gracious enough to bear my inept attempts to gain her attention. Not many people were kind to me, you see. I was ridiculed and picked on as Squibs often are which was another reason Hector allowed me to attend Muggle school.”

Frowning, Hermione said, “The more I hear about this place, the more I don’t wanna go.”

Taking her by the slender shoulders, Alex said with sincere conviction, “It can be a wondrous place for someone such as yourself and I will not deny you the right to experience it. However, if get there and truly do not like it, you can come home.”

Hermiones’ peaked look cleared before saying with relief evident in her voice, “Thank you, daddy!”

Hermione was brought out of her troubling thoughts by the sound of the door of her compartment sliding open revealing a round, pleasant face.

“Neville,” she exclaimed, jumping up to greet her friend.

Bowing slightly from his somewhat pudgy waist, he greeted her ceremoniously, “Good day, Miss Dagworth-Granger.”

Mimicking him with a slight curtsy, Hermione returned with practiced equanimity, “And to you, Scion Longbottom.”

Formal greetings out of the way, they rushed at each other, hugging in such an enthusiastic manner that it would have horrified Neville’s grandmother, setting them up for a sound scolding.

Pulling back, face flushed, Neville asked, “Are you excited?!”

Biting on her lip, Hermione said quietly, “Part of me is but the other part is equal parts scared and homesick already.”

Taking her hand in a familiar gesture, her friend pulled Hermione down until she was seated next to him. “I get it,” he said, squeezing the small fingers he held in consolation. “It _is _frightening, but it’s the Sorting that has me worried. If I’m not placed in Gryffindor like my parents, Gran will have a royal fit.”

Pressing the suddenly moist palm, Hermione exclaimed stridently, “Well, if you aren’t, Nana Gus will just have to deal with it and she better not give you any grief about it either!”

Neville marveled at Hermione temerity when it came to his Gran. The old woman petrified just about everyone she came in contact with, including him at times. She could be blunt and abrasive, but with Hermione she was almost patient when teaching her their ways. Neville was certain that there had been a glint of admiration in her shrewd, calculating eyes when Hermione has easily mastered the levitation spell.

“Very good, child. Your mother had natural ability when it came to charms as well. Clearly, you share that affinity. I’m sure Filius will be most pleased.” At her confused expression, Augustus informed her, “Filius Flitwick is the Charms Professor at Hogwarts.”

“Gran’s already so disappointed in me,” Neville mumbled despondently.

Hermione clicked her tongue in irritation. “Forgive me for saying so, but if she’d stop holding your parents up as a perfect example of wizarding skill, and beating you over the head with their accomplishments, she might take the time to notice that you have your own talents. Your spells have been going along swimmingly since we got you a new wand. Haven’t they?”

Neville nodded. “If she ever found out that I switched it out with my father’s… well, I don’t even want to think about her reaction to _that_!”

“Oh pish-posh,” Hermione airily waved away his fears. “Once she hears about how you’ve improved, she’ll not think twice about you dad’s wand. I honestly think she wants you to succeed and it doesn’t matter whether you do it with your wand or his.”

“You don’t get it, Hermione!” At his sharp tone, she searched his down bent head. Meeting her gaze briefly, he said, “It’s like she wants me to _be_ him! She won’t let me be my own person! I love her and all, but she really drives me bonkers with how she goes on and on about him!”

Neville slumped in his seat, allowing his head to loll on Hermione’s slender shoulder, seeking comfort. She wrapped her arm him and he snuggled closer as she patted his back and said, “She means well, you know. I don’t think she understands how much she’s stifling and hurting you; it’s like she’s blind to it. You have to make her see, Neville. You’re a strong wizard, I can tell. You can become your own person while at Hogwarts, but you’ve got to stand firm with your Gran when you figure out who you are. Don’t let her cow you back into submission. One of the reasons she likes me so much is because – to use her words – I’ve got gumption.”

Neville let out a choked, dismal chuckle. “While I’m a lump of useless lard.”

Hermione pushed his head away, jumping up and exclaimed with furious ire, “Don’t you _ever_ say that again! Do you hear me?! If those words come out of you in my hearing, I will hex your bollocks off and do it with a smile!”

Instinctively, Neville crossed his legs, and after a few seconds of glaring, Hermione busted out into a fit of giggles while her friend watched her closely, unsure of her intentions.

Flinging herself back next to him, she yanked him forcefully until he was smashed up to her side, her warmth easing the chill that had settled in his limbs. With great affection, she murmured into his hair, “Now, you stop being such a daft goober. You’re gonna be amazing, and you know I’m pretty on the mark about these things.”

She couldn’t see it, but Neville’s face broke out into a big grin. “Yeah, you are,” he whispered, believing her words because Hermione Dagworth-Granger was the most brilliant witch he’d ever met. So, if she was determined to believe in him, then he was determined to make her proud.


	2. Fortuitous Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making new friends.

Chapter 2

They hadn't been sitting there long, before the door was once again pushed open and a bespeckled boy with the messiest hair Hermione had ever seen asked in a tentative voice, "Can I sit with you?" Fidgeting nervously he added, "Most of the others are full and I don't really know anyone."

The mothering instinct in Hermione took over immediately. "Of course you can," she answered with a bright, encouraging smile.

"Thanks," the boy replied, obvious relief in those stunning green eyes of his.

Hermione and Neville watched as the new addition pulled and tugged on his trunk, grunting at the weight. The boy looked malnourished so was it any wonder he was having difficulties with that thing? Without even thinking twice, Hermione murmured a spell while waving her wand and immediately the other boys' burden became lighter as he pulled it completely into their compartment and easily threw it on the top shelf.

Turning to her with a friendly grin, he said, "Whatever you did, thanks."

Hermione blushed. True he was very thin with clothes at least three times too large which hung on his bony build, but there was also a winsome, appealing quality in the delicate structure of his face. Not to mention his _eyes_. She must have been staring because Neville's elbow connected discreetly with her side. No doubt he was trying to silently indicate her overt, social faux-pas.

"Oh, um… it was simple charm to lighten your load," Hermione explained haltingly still embarrassed at being caught gawking. "I could teach you if you like."

The boys eyes lit up with genuine pleasure. "That would be brilliant!"

Remembering her manners, Hermione stood and then dipped into a small but graceful curtsy before saying, "I am Hermione Dagworth-Granger and this…" she motioned to a boy with a mutinous expression… "Is Scion Neville Longbottom. We are pleased to make your acquaintance."

The boy she had indicated, merely grunted at Harry in greeting.

"Neville," she hissed out the side of her mouth but the other boy refused to budge until she dug the heel of her boot into his toes.

With a yelp, he jumped to his feet exclaiming, "Hey! That hurt!"

"It'll hurt worse if you don't mind your manners Neville Longbottom," Hermione promised tartly. "I shouldn't have to force you into simple courtesies that we both have had drilled into us for years!"

"Oh, all right," Neville spat out ungraciously before turning to the green-eyed boy and sketching the minutest of bows mumbling, "Pleased to meet you." When it clearly wasn't.

"Um, yeah… you too?"

Hermione heard the question behind his answer and sought to bridge the rude gap that Neville had created.

"Allow me to apologize for my friend. He has a tendency to be an ill-mannered, uncouth cretin at times although for the most part, he's a good sort. At present, I am uncertain as to what dung beetle has crawled up his arse and died causing him act in such a berkish manner."

Neville's face took on a crimson hue. Good! He _should _be mortified! He was behaving like a first-class git! Hermione almost brought Nana Gus into the conversation if only to see the horrified remorse on her friends face at the wicked tongue-lashing he would be sure to endure at the hands of the indomitable old woman. It wasn't in Hermione to be that cruel. Not to Neville especially.

"I can find another compartment," the other boy offered quietly, the lovely light dying in his eyes. "I don't want to cause a problem."

"Certainly not!" Hermione insisted vehemently. Turning to the silently fuming Longbottom fellow, she crossed her arms and with grim determination demanded, "Apologize. Now."

The bigger boy was clearly struggling as to whether or not to obey such a startling request from the pretty little witch impatiently tapping her toe. The situation was so outside of his experience that Harry was hard-pressed to keep a straight face. He didn't have much interaction with kids his own age – Dudley _did not _count – let alone magical kids. So, it was amusing and curious to watch this tiny, obviously in charge girl and Harry had a feeling they'd be here until doomsday if need be until she got her way.

The other bloke must have thought so too because he heaved a deep sigh, held out his hand and said, "My apologies. Hermione is correct, I was brought up to always be a gentleman and I've been unpardonably rude to you. Neville Longbottom at your service."

Without hesitation, Harry took the proffered olive branch, giving the other boy's hand a hearty shake before releasing it and saying, "No harm done."

"That's very gracious of you," Hermione replied sweetly before turning back to Neville and stating stridently, "Now, offer restitution for your behavior."

Rolling his eyes, Neville whined, "_Really_? Come on, I shook his hand and apologized. Restitution? You have _got _to be kidding me."

"That's really not necessary," the other boy ventured to say, totally clueless as to what they were talking about.

"Of course it is," Hermione huffed. "Do it Neville or I will be forced to inform Nana Gus of these proceedings."

The bloke named Neville went stark white, swaying where he stood and Harry was afraid he was going to pass out at his feet. Apparently those were the magic words, because without further prompting, he gulped and stated quickly, "I offer restitution to you in whatever manner you prefer."

Patting Neville's cheek gently, Hermione bestowed a glittering smile on the boy.

"Well done, Neville. I am inordinately proud of you. One day, you will make a fine Lord."

The taller boy seemed to light up and melt like butter simultaneously under her ministrations while leaning into the pretty witches touch.

"As long as I've got you to keep me on the straight and narrow," he uttered truthfully.

Clearing his throat, Harry remarked with a slight tilt to his head, "I'm lost here. Uh, what's this restitution business?"

Instead of answering, Hermione mused aloud while tapping her chin thoughtfully, "I think a fine restitution would be to invite our new friend to your Manor over the Holidays, Neville. Yes, that will do nicely" she agreed with herself, sounding satisfied.

Hermione then took Harry totally off guard when she took him firmly by the arm and forcefully all but frog-marched him to the seat opposite her and Neville. She was a tiny thing, but boy, she was strong!

"We'd better get a few things cleared up first such as your name and a bit about your background and family as well." At Harry's slightly pained expression, Hermione rapidly informed him, "Not that any of that matters, of course. Our families don't hold with that ridiculous blood purity nonsense. Neville tells me that most of the Sacred Houses do, but some stay neutral on the subject while we proclaim the idiocy of such things to anyone who will listen. We aren't shy about it at all. I could tell straight away that you were a kindred spirit and I'm generally right about these things. Where are you from? Who are your parents? Have you always known about the Wizarding World? My parents were Master Potioneers, what about yours?"

"Hermione," Neville intervened quickly, "you're babbling and the poor bloke looks like he doesn't know which end is up. Breathe a bit. We've got the entire trip to grill the guy."

"I'm not grilling him," Hermione insisted sounding insulted by the notion. "I merely wish to get to know our new friend a bit better, that's all."

"Sounded like grilling to me, but have it your own way," Neville returned amiably.

Hermione's light blue eyes narrowed. "You are just as curious as I am, I know it."

Throwing a hand up in exasperation Neville finally admitted it. "Okay, yeah, I am but that's just because I don't recognize him at all." Turning back to Harry, Neville asked haltingly, "_Are_ you Muggle-born? It's okay if you are. It's like Hermione said, we don't adhere to that blood purity nonsense. Fact is, Hermione was raised by Muggles in the Muggle world."

Harry's green gaze clashed with Hermione's. "Is that true," he breathed, hoping upon hope that it was.

Here would be someone who would understand his confusion. Diagon Alley itself had held him both spellbound and feeling beyond petrified. The sights and sounds had been exciting yet vastly foreign, making a part of him feel frighteningly disassociated from his surroundings, and visiting there had only been a smidgen of what the Wizarding World had to offer!

"That's not entirely accurate," Hermione informed him and Harry felt himself deflate a little. "My mother – who is actually my aunt – is a Muggle but my father – who is my uncle – is a Squib."

At Harry's baffled expression, Hermione explained.

"A Squib is someone born to magical parents but they have no active magic of their own. Generally, they are either encouraged to leave or are forced out of the Wizarding community."

"That's wrong," Harry stated simply causing Hermione to give him a breath-taking smile.

"It is," Hermione acknowledged his point. "My uncle built a happy and productive life in the Muggle world and met my aunt and they married. Not too long after, I was born and my birth parents – Cassiopeia and Hector – both Pure-bloods, thought it in my best interests to be given over to them to raise."

Hermione wasn't yet ready to share with this boy the death of her parents although it was quite well known in the Wizarding World. Not that he would have heard the story. By the way he was dressed, Muggle-style and she hated to say it… poorly, she surmised that he was indeed Muggle-born because there was no way a well cared for Pure-blood, or Half-blood would be dressed so or looking nearly starved to death.

Chances are, he knew even less than she about the magical community. He probably hadn't had the opportunity to read Hogwarts: A History to help get himself acquainted with their new school like she had. On top of that, she'd been involved with fine people such as the Longbottoms and several other prominent and helpful families for the past few years in effort to make her transition as smooth as possible.

Thankfully, Daddy Alex had thought to have her educated in magical application and unsurprisingly, Potions had been one of her favorite subjects to practice and study. Nana Gus and a few trusted others, who Hermione had grown quite find of during the ensuing years together, assisted her with the political aspects and how the Wizengamot functioned and what her potential role might eventually be.

She'd also been extensively taught the ways in which to navigate the Wizarding Worlds' complex and convoluted customs and hierarchy. Most of it was beyond her comprehension, seeming silly and archaic, but the dancing and etiquette lessons were fun.

Pinning her with a troubled gaze, the green-eyed boy spoke. "I'm not Muggle-born. My parents were both magical and like you, I've been being raised by my aunt and uncle outside of this world since I was a baby." If raising a child is what you want to call it, Harry thought mockingly.

Hermione gave him a commiserating smile before saying, "It's sort of interesting how our lives seem to be quite similar." There was that grimace again and Hermione's brow furrowed in concerned confusion and again, she thought of how underfed and scruffy he looked.

Quietly, and with great delicacy she said with a knowing glint in her eyes, "Your aunt and uncle are unkind to you." Harry didn't answer, but his head drooped. "I've noticed your ill-fitting clothes." Harry felt the hot embarrassment crawling up his neck but remained silent, eyes fixed on the floor of the moving train.

Hermione's gentle hand felt wonderfully cool on his hot cheek as she tilted his face back to meet her troubled, compassionate gaze, "Their treatment of you is unpardonable. Such behavior is a disgrace and should not be permitted to continue."

Harry was not accustomed to so much kindness and from a virtual stranger no less. Nor was he used to anyone touching him with such tender assurance when in his eleven years or so, beefy hands had only been raised at him in anger or contempt.

"There's nothing I can do about it," Harry managed to say passed lips that trembled. "I'll be sent back to my relatives during Holidays and over the summer."

Stroking his cheek lightly, Hermione informed him with a soft smile, "You're permitted to remain at Hogwarts over the Holidays, if you choose to do so."

Harry's dark brows rose high. "Really," he asked, his voice squeaking slightly with excitement.

He felt an odd sense of loss when Hermione released him, fingers lightly brushing his face as she lowered her hand. "Yes, it says so in Hogwarts: A History. It's true that during the summer months the students return home, but once it's discovered how deplorable you're being treated, I'm sure that will change. As for the Holidays, you'll be spending them at Longbottom Manor and not at Hogwarts this year."

Dark brows rose even higher, a transformative grin chasing away the shadows. "Really?!"

Chuckling at his excitation, Neville spoke with a grin of his own, "Of course. Restitution to you must be appeased, and Hermione has already declared in which way it shall be done. So, you will spend your Holidays at the Manor with us."

Neville would have to get his Gran's approval, but he didn't foresee a problem there because she'd has been encouraging him to exercise a few of his duties as future Lord of House and providing restitution seemed to be a fine place to start.

Harry let out an amused huff, before asking Neville a vital question. "Is Miss Dagworth-Granger always this bossy?"

True laughter erupted from Neville as he looked at Harry with something akin to faux-pity before saying, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. You better be on the ball with your schoolwork too because she'll pester you until you want to hex her six ways to Sunday."

"I'll keep that in my mind," Harry assured him with a wide smile that matched Neville's, and in that instance, Harry saw acceptance in the other boys gaze.

Hermione harrumphed at Neville's words, but didn't dispute them, simply following his statement with an indulgent twist to her lips.

"Before we go any further, we must adhere to the niceties," Neville went on to say sounding quite serious and pompous. "I formally request the presence of…."

It took a second for Harry to realize what he had to do and when he did, he did it with great reluctance. A sense of doom began to descend because he knew from his trip to Diagon Alley that this new World considered him a hero and adulation was not something he wanted, nor to be at the center of attention.

"Harry," he offered up slowly. "Harry Potter."

As he expected, Neville's eyes grew large in shocked excitement. "Merlin! Truly?! Wow! The-Boy-Who-Lived right here!" Neville then exclaimed, "Ow!Hermione!" while rubbing the area on his arm where he'd been punched by his companion.

To Harry's delight, Hermione scolded him with a scowl, "He's not a celebrity, you goober! He's a person, just like you and me, so don't be breaking out a parchment to get his autograph or anything else equally offensive and ridiculous! And, if you even so much as _think_ of asking to see his scar, I will not only bloody your nose, I'll hex your backside so hard you won't be able to sit for a week!"

Clearing his throat, Neville's expression changed from the previous one to wry contrition. "Sorry, mate. It's just, I've read stories about you since I was little."

"Which, no doubt were completely false," Hermione interjected tartly. Calmly, she addressed Harry. "We'd heard rumor that you might be aboard the train heading for Hogwarts, but I didn't put much stock in it when we arrived at the station and there wasn't this grand hoopla taking place in anticipation of your arrival."

Harry's stiffened shoulders relaxed. "The Professor who escorted me put some sort of spell on me when she brought me to the station."

Nodding her head, Hermione remarked casually, "Probably a Notice-Me-Not or a variation of one. That was quite clever because although you went unnoticed, I did see several of the press milling about, and I'm sure they were waiting on you, Harry."

"Or you, Hermione," Neville added, pulling a face. "Your story is as well-known as Harry's."

Folding her hands in her lap, Hermione rejected Neville's theory by saying, "I think not. Fortunately for me, if not for Harry, what happened to my family was completely overshadowed by the sensationalism of Harry Potter finally coming out of hiding after all these years."

Her words concerning her own family made Harry extremely curious, but he didn't ask questions because clearly it affected her greatly and he didn't want to do anything to ruin the friendly atmosphere now that Neville had warmed up to him. Besides, it really wasn't any of his business and he had hated it when several people at Diagon had thrown invasive questions or comments at him. No, he'd wait and maybe Hermione would trust him enough at some point to tell him her story.

"Hiding," Harry questioned with a genuinely perplexed expression. "Is that really what everyone thinks?"

"Yeah," Neville replied. "You disappeared after your parents were killed and no one knew where you'd gone. According to my Gran, you'd been whisked away at Dumbledore's instructions. Boy! She was fit to be tied when he refused to tell her where you'd been taken! I heard her griping to Madame Bones about it when she thought I was upstairs studying some really interesting Herbology books."

"I wish your Gran had been able to find me," Harry grumbled. "I'm more or less treated like their servant, it's as if I'm not family at all. They hate me. It's because I'm different from them and I knew that I was because all these strange things would happen."

Nodding sagely, Hermione murmured, "Accidental magic. It's a natural occurrence for witches and wizards to experience. Quite normal really. As you get older, you're taught methods in which to gain control and then those instances of magical outbursts tend to diminish or even go away completely depending on how quickly you can master those methods."

"Hermione's a prodigy," Neville proclaimed like a proud parent. "She got herself under control faster than anybody I know."

Blushing prettily, Hermione demurred, "I'm not anything special. I just had a lot of people helping me. I got lucky. Harry, now that we're friends, Neville and I can help you, if you like."

"That would be great, but honestly, since finding out about being a wizard nothing much has happened. No issues at all."

Hermione thought a moment before suggesting, "Perhaps you haven't had to deal with as much emotional upheaval now that your here and on your way to Hogwarts. Not knowing why all those odd things were happening combined with your relatives negative reactions could have heightened your stress levels which in turn would make accidental magic much more prevalent than it normally would have been."

To Harry, Hermione was making a lot of sense. If he sat back and thought about it, it did seem as if those sporadic bursts of magic happened more frequently when he was emotionally distressed. Goodness knows he often had plenty to be distressed about! It was bad enough it had been happening and he'd been totally clueless as to what it was or why it was happening, but then to have to try to make it _not _happen so that the Dursleys wouldn't go mental. Well, it had all been extraordinarily draining on numerous levels.

"I think you're right, Hermione," Harry agreed simply, using her given name for the first time and liking how easily it rolled off his tongue.

"She often is," Neville admitted while rolling his eyes. "And never lets you forget it either."

Ignoring her friends comment, Hermione directed her next statement to the boy opposite her. "You just stick with me, Harry Potter. I'll steer you in the right direction and Neville here will help too. Even if we aren't Sorted into the same House, we'll stay friends because true friends stand together united through all trials and tribulations. Nothing or no one can come between them."

Harry could hardly believe his good fortune and was just about to add his whole-hearted agreement when someone came bounding through the door exclaiming loudly, "Oi, think I'm supposed to be here." Upon seeing Harry, the boy proclaimed with exuberant certainty,"Reckon this is the right place."

Three sets of eyes zeroed in on the new arrival taking in his shock of orange-red hair, overly freckled face and goofy grin.

One fine brow arched imperiously before Hermione asked, "And, you are?" As the strange boy opened his mouth to speak, she added helpfully, "By the way, you've got a spot of dirt on your nose."


	3. Recriminations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things do not go well after Ron enters the carriage in which Harry, Hermione and Neville are sitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several readers seem disconcerted or down-right unhappy that Hermione has blonde hair. I did say in the tags that appearances will be changed and specifically pointed out Hermione. I did do research on the Black women and Andromeda has brown hair, Bella has black hair, Narcissa has blonde hair and Cassiopeia’s color of hair has not been specified therefore I have made her a blonde like Narcissa.
> 
> BTW: If you’re a Ron or Dumbledore fan, this isn’t the story for you; you might want to skip it.
> 
> One more thing: In the previous chapter I had Minerva bringing Harry to the train station, but I changed that and you’ll see why in this chapter. Happy reading and thanks for all the love!!

Chapter 3

“Well, this is a fascinating start to the new school year,” harrumphed a disgruntled McGonagall as Hermione watched her expertly apply dittany to Neville’s hand. “In all of my time at Hogwarts, I have never found it necessary to visit the hospital wing directly off the train platform!”

Suitably cowed, Hermione still felt compelled to request of the older woman, “Please don’t be angry at my friends, Professor.”

The irate woman’s eyes swiveled in her direction, a heavy frown on her stern but intelligent looking features. “Miss Dagworth-Granger, correct?”

Dipping into a curtsy, and with a respectful tilt to her head, Hermione replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

“This is not an auspicious beginning for any of you,” the woman retorted. “I expect more of those students which I know to have been taught better than to indulge in fisticuffs on the Express!”

Taking Neville’s uninjured hand in her own, Hermione explained quietly, “Neville was just looking out for me, Professor. It isn’t his fault and I honestly believe it was an established reaction on his part to protect a lady.”

Quirking a thin brow, Minerva’s gaze fell upon the boy trying desperately not to cry, and questioned with a speck of surprise in her voice, “Neville? Neville _Longbottom_? My goodness lad, your Grandmother will be most disappointed.”

Minerva was also thinking of how proud Augusta would be. That woman had been trying to metaphorically beat a measure of moxy into the boy for years. The Longbottom heir hadn’t shown much promise in earlier days, having a tendency toward being not only quite timid, but having had his magical ability come into question.

Shuddering at the thought, Neville ventured to proclaim indignantly, “I was defending Hermione’s honor! My Gran will understand my reasoning! A gentleman does not malign a ladies character, and that twit made several reprehensible remarks!”

“Be that as it may, fighting is not sanctioned for any reason at Hogwarts, young man. Is that understood?”

Nodding glumly, Neville muttered mutinously, “Yes, Professor.”

“That being said,” Minerva went on to explain, “neither is verbal abuse acceptable and if your allegations prove truthful, he will be appropriately dealt with. Now, I have done what I can concerning your injuries, but I do believe you may have broken several bones. That is beyond my basic first-aid ability, therefore we will have to wait until Madame Pomfrey is done dealing with Mr. Weasley’s nose to have you properly diagnosed”

“His nose aught to be left like that,” Harry said stridently, coming into the conversation for the first time. “He was really mean and if Neville hadn’t gotten to him first, _I_ would’ve given him a good pummeling!”

Sighing, Minerva responded by asking, “Messers Potter and Longbottom, must I state again that violence in any form is not the thing done here at this school? It solves nothing and serves no purpose other than to create more problems between students and for yourselves. I do not condone what Mr. Weasley has done, please believe me, but I do expect this to be the end of things, am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” both boys replied in unison.

After the Professor went to check on Madame Pomfrey’s progress, Harry moved closer, taking Hermione’s cold fingers, giving them a gentle squeeze in silent support. “Good show, Neville. But next time...”

“There will _not_ be a next time,” Hermione interjected firmly, taking the Professor’s words to heart.

“Well, just in case there is, don’t tuck your thumb into your fist, mate,” Harry informed knowledgeably. Having plenty of experience dodging Dudley had given Harry a birds-eye view on how clenching your hand into a fighting fist was properly done “Then, you gotta draw back from the shoulder as far as possible, leaning a bit on your dominant heel, then put all of your body weight behind it as you launch your throw. That way your momentum along with your body mass will do more damage.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Neville grinned through the pain. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind,”

Hermione amused both boys by throwing up her arms, exclaiming in exasperation, “Boys!”

As Minerva approached the table behind the screen, she could hear the Weasley boy complaining and arguing with the Matron. His words sounded vaguely muffled, giving her the impression that Poppy had not completed the healing process.

As she pushed the divider aside, Minerva heard Poppy admonish the boy. “Will you please sit still, Mr. Weasley! I cannot heal your nose into a straight line if you fidget and continue to talk! I need you to be silent, or I will be forced to put you in a Body-bind!”

“How are things progressing,” Minerva asked the harried-looking woman.

“The boy’s been nattering unintelligibly non-stop since he got here,” Poppy informed her friend in a beleaguered fashion. “He won’t release his nose so that I can see to examine it which is why it’s taking me far longer than is necessary! He seems incapable of following simple instructions and is being unreasonably defiant!”

“Young man!” Minerva bit out sharply, gaining Ron’s full attention basically because her tone sounded suspiciously like his mum’s. “You will obey Madame Pomfrey this instance or you will be excused from the infirmary sporting a crooked nose and a letter will be sent to your mother informing her of your unwillingness in allowing Madam Pomfrey to help you!”

Ron immediately settled and shut his mouth while dropping his hand from his throbbing, misshapen nose. Poppy shot her a grateful look before continuing her ministrations. Mr. Longbottom had really done a number on the boy, Minerva mused, noting the swelling of not only the nose but around the blackened eyes as well. It was no longer bleeding, but remnants of it were crusting around the enlarged nostrils and chin. His hands and fingers were also coated with the viscous substance.

“When you’re finished, Poppy, Mr. Longbottom will need your assistance as well. I fear there may be broken bones. I’ve applied dittany and put a cooling charm over the swelling and he seems to be bearing the pain well enough.”

Poppy hummed in acceptance, too immersed in the intricate waving of her wand and mouthing out of detailed healing spells to give her a proper answer.

Turning her attention once more to the newest Weasley and, if past Sortings tended to dictate, one of her eventual personal charges as Head of Gryffindor, Minerva stated evenly, “When Madam Pomfrey has completed her ministrations, you and I will be having a conversation concerning the events which took place on the Hogwarts Express.” Minerva wasn’t expecting an answer due to having to keep still, but the boy did manage to blink in acknowledgment.

Sighing, she took a moment to cast her mind back to the tableau at the station which had greeted her astonished eyes upon her last-minute arrival. She’d been taken off-guard when the medallion around her neck had begun to heat up indicating the need for her immediate presence. Even more troubling than the medallion indicating trouble, was who it was that had sent the distress signal. Not to be unkind, but she genuinely thought that Hagrid would not have been able to put enough magic through the charm to make any sort reaction occur. The general consensus amongst the staff had been that Hagrid had been included in receiving the required jewelry so as not to make him feel excluded. Clearly, they had all been doing the gentle giant a grave disservice.

She’d taken a specially designed Port-key, which had been gathering dust in her quarters for nigh on too many years to count, appearing at a scene of mass mayhem. Hagrid had been doing his best to get the First Years moving in the direction of the boats, but it seemed as if most of the students took to shouting and gawking in excitement as two boys rolled around on the ground! The older students appeared to be placing bets on the outcome! The Weasley twins idea, no doubt! She’d eat her hat if she were wrong on that score.

To give him his due, Percy Weasley was at least_ trying_ to do his duty as a Prefect by yelling for everyone to get back, to get into straight lines as was the usual custom, but it seemed as if the more loudly he screamed, the more he was being ignored as several older years began pushing him roughly out of their viewing vantage point, eager to watch as the two ickle Firsties continued to give each other a sound beating. A fine-featured girl with long blonde hair was being forcibly held back from entering the fray by another lad who looked so extremely malnourished that it was a wonder he was able to contain her wildly flailing form.

It was only when Minerva heard the enraged girl order angrily, “Let me go, Harry! Right this minute!” that the realization struck that this thin, raggedy looking child was Lily and James’ son! She wanted to lament at the sight of such neglect, at the mere thought of how horror-struck the Potters would be at the lack of care he’d obviously been reduced to. She was _so_ going to kick bloody Albus Dumbledore’s bloody arse as soon as she could get her hands on that bloody, blasted old man! She’d _told_ him the Dursleys were the worst sort of Muggles! She’d told him! There just wasn’t time for any of that now because she had to get things under control and back on track.

Raising her wand, she shot off a spell that created a massively spectacular event in the sky above them not unlike the Weasley Twins’ most impressive fireworks. It might have been a tad over the top but it was as loud as blazes with its cannon-like explosions and more importantly, it did the job. It was as if time suddenly stood still. The shouting ceased, everyone froze in their spots, the young girl relented and fell heavily into the Potter boys’ arms and even the two ruffians on the ground were startled enough to break apart and roll onto their knees.

Putting her want to her throat, Minerva cast a Sonorous spell which elevated her voice so that it could reach to the farthest end of the train platform and said in a such a way that brooked no argument, “First Years, line up and allow Mr. Hagrid to do a head count and when he has finished making sure you are all accounted for, you will, without further ado follow him to the boats. This will be done in a quiet, orderly manner.” The little ones scurried to do her bidding. “Not you two,” Minerva instructed with a menacing frown, while pointing at the two boys climbing to their feet, one of which was obviously a Weasley. All that red hair was unmistakable.

“Everyone else,” Minerva continued, “systematically make your way to the carriages as swiftly as possible _without_ running as the Threstrals are getting restless and are apt to leave without you in which case, it is a very long walk back to the castle and loss of House points and of the first Hogmeades week-end await those who miss their ride.”

Minerva was pleased to note, that those statements put a bit of fire under the students feet as they walked stridently toward the awaiting mode of transportation. Turning fully back to the remaining four children, she exclaimed while waving her hands dismissively, “Off with you, Mr. Potter and take the young lady with you or you’ll miss the boats.”

Before Harry could say a word, Hermione quickly retorted, “I’m not leaving my friend! Besides, he needs to be looked at, his knuckles look all wrong!”

The Weasley boy was holding his nose, blood flowing freely and dropping onto his home-made jumper. “Yes,” Minerva agreed, “he is in quite the state.”

“Not him,” Hermione spat out, eyes glittering with disdain as she looked over at Molly Weasley’s latest addition to Hogwarts. “I said his knuckles, not his nose,” she remarked less sternly while placing an arm around the waist of the slightly shorter, brown-haired lad.

“Gracious, child!” This just wasn’t Minerva’s day. First a fight and now an imperious, little Miss. “I really don’t have time to debate the issue, so all of you grab a hold of either sleeve. Try not to get blood on my robes, Mr. Weasley.”

It was only after they had port-keyed back on to the grounds that the identity of the young girl hit Minerva in a flash of insight. She should’ve known right away considering how much she looked like her dear, departed Mother, but she’d been rattled by the events taking place around her. When she had seen Cassiopeia’s daughter’s name appear in the ledger several months prior, she’d been astonished but delighted. After their deaths, no one seemed to know what had happened to the baby although it had been suggested that she had been placed with Hector’s brother. Such a thing would have been unheard of since one did not simply take a magical child from the Wizarding community to be raised amongst Muggles, yet that did appear to be the case.

The couple’s death had been shattering to all who had known them. Minerva had been especially desolate having developed a mutually affectionate bond with the younger woman. Minerva wasn’t one to take on favorites at the school and considering that the intelligent and lovely witch hadn’t even been under her care – and perhaps that’s the very reason she felt justified in favoring Cassiopeia – there was no denying the older witch had held the middle Black girl in high regard. True, she’d been Sorted into Slytherin but it hadn’t made a whit of difference in her attitude toward others in differing Houses. She’d been a fine Prefect and an even better Head Girl.

With rueful mirth, Minerva determined that while Hermione Dagworth-Granger favored her mother in the looks department, all that fire and stubbornness definitely came from her father. Hector had been a very intense young man and, until Cassiopeia had come into his realm of existence, all that intensity had been geared towards Potions and the creation of new and exciting elixirs. Of course he’d ended up in Ravenclaw; the boy had been brilliant, a prodigy really. So, no wonder on that score. If his daughter had half his intellect and drive, they would be seeing wondrous things from her. Cassiopeia had been no slouch in the brains department either and if she’d carried a surname other than Black, she herself might have been sent to Ravenclaw. Being moved to any House other than Slytherin wasn’t in the cards for a member of a prominent Pure-blood family hell-bent on maintaining said Purity at all costs even unto following a demented madman.

It wasn’t until the Hat sat on Sirius’ Blacks cocky head and yelled, Gryffindor! To the admonishment of all, that this particular trend was broken even if Sirius had paid a hefty personal price. Minerva honestly believed that had Cassiopeia specifically stated where she wanted to be placed as she’d sat on that stool her First Year, she would have not landed in the House of Snakes. Even then, as young as eleven, she’d striven to be kind and understanding to all while doing her best to uphold family obligations. It had been a perilously thin line to walk, but she’d managed beautifully.

As Minerva watched her former students beautiful daughter bend consolingly over Mr. Longbottom while murmuring words of comfort, she knew her conclusions were right on the galleon. This child _was_ like Cassiopeia where it counted, in her heart. Mr. Potter hovered over the girl while holding her hand tightly, guarded eyes narrowed as if daring anyone to try to separate them. This was a clue to the Gryffindor Head of House that a strong bond had already formed between the three First Years. Delighted didn’t even cover how much this pleased her. As to whether or not Albus would approve, that was a whole different cauldron of flobberworms. Honestly, at the sight of Mr. Potter’s deficient care at the hands of those horrid Muggles, she didn’t give a fig whether he would approve or not!

“I’m finished with the Weasley boy,” a mentally exhausted looking Poppy informed her. “I can look at Mr. Longbottom now.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” Minerva said with a genuine smile. “While you see to him, I’ll chat with this one.”

Once more, the barrier was pushed aside revealing a sullen face with much less bruising and a more pleasingly altered nose. He was hunched over on the cot, hands clasped together between his splayed knees. “The other children have informed me that you made several deprecating remarks to Miss Dagworth-Granger. Is that true?”

Muttering, the boy tried to explain. “All I wanted to do was meet The-Boy-Who- Lived, that’s all! Mum said he’d be on the train. Then, that stuck up bird had to put her two knuts in and it bloody well wasn’t her business! Wasn’t for her, and that fat kid, Harry and me would be best mates already!”

“_Mr. Weasley_,” Minerva rapped out, outraged. “You will kindly refrain from using such inappropriate language!” Blue eyes glared back at her. “Derogatory remarks on personal appearance will also be stifled! Understood?!”

“Yes, Professor,” the boy said with just enough of sneer to be disrespectful but not enough to call him out on it.

“Now, if this conversation is anything to go by, am I correct in assuming that you _did_ say things of a nasty nature to Miss Dagworth-Granger?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Ron bit out venomously, “_I’m_ supposed to be Harry’s friend! Me! Not those two!”

“That is _not _the question I asked you, Mr. Weasley,” Minerva exclaimed, voice rising an octave, face thunderous.

“Suppose, so” was the boys inadequate reply. “But_ she_ started it!”

Quirking a brow, Minerva asked, “How so? Did she call you names as well?”

“Not exactly,” he finally admitted with a scowl. “She made me look an arse in front of Harry Potter, _Harry Potter! _Nasty bint,” he added under his breath.

“Twenty points from whatever House you are placed in, Mr. Weasley,” Minerva bit out, growing even angrier because she was certain it would be _her_ House. “It’s clear that you are unable to give an accurate account of what took place. An owl will be sent to your parents explaining in detail your attitude and inappropriate language.”

Ron blanched. “I… I’m sorry, Professor,” he stuttered, freckles standing out starkly against the pale skin. “Please don’t owl my mum, she’ll send a howler, I just know it.”

Minerva’s expression relaxed a tad, then she asked, “Will you tell me the things you said to Miss Dagworth-Granger? And be honest in the telling, young man because I’ve had years to perfect my ability to distinguish the truth versus a load of dung.”

Looking glummer than glum, Ron nodded.

“Very well, proceed.”

Minerva was hard-pressed to maintain her composure as the boy outlined every horrid comment made to the blonde girl. She was appalled! Where had he learned such things?! The Weasley’s were a respectable family and to listen to such venomous and dirty filth spilling from the mouth of one of their own was as shocking as what their son was reluctantly parroting back to her! No wonder the Longbottom boy felt the need to defend his friend. The names Mr. Weasley had called her were beyond inexcusable and in long years past would have led to a demand for satisfaction by wand... to the death!

When he was done, he could barely look her in the face which is as it should have been after delivering that litany of vulgarism, but it did little to ease her ire.

“Young man,” she began shrilly, “because I gave you my word of not notifying your parents if you presented the truth, I am forced to hold myself to that promise. _However,_ you _will _apologize to Miss Dagworth-Granger and you _will _express yourself with conviction and you will _never_ utter such vile things again or I swear by Merlin’s beard that _I_ will bloody that foul mouth of yours along with your nose!

Minerva stormed out of the infirmary with the dignity of royalty exuding such scorn for the left behind and petrified youngster that Poppy could only admire and applaud her friends’ final words to the nasty, little twerp.

“She’s scary,” Neville muttered as Madam Pomfrey completed her ministrations with a small chuckle.

“_I_ think she’s brilliant,” Hermione enthused with a huge, almost besotted grin.


	4. Miscalculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting doesn't go quite as planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no beta so please excuse any mistakes.

Chapter 4

Albus Dumbledore was in the throes of a truly remarkable headache the likes of which he hadn't had the misfortune to suffer in years. Currently, nothing… _nothing _was going to plan. How had the Weasley family missed Harry on the Muggle platform? He had impressed upon Molly most firmly and with the greatest urgency the importance of building strong ties with Harry of the familial sort immediately! Residing with the Dursleys all of these years would not have given him any notion of family and what it entailed. Albus knew that having Harry associated with Arthur' s legion of children would have been ideal not only for the boy, but for his own plans for the youngster. They were a fine household and Molly would have taken the starved for affection child under her motherly wing with or without Albus' encouragement. The ensuing events on the train had thoroughly smashed into smithereens all that he had meticulously and painstakingly designed.

After assisting Harry on getting through the magical barrier, Ronald Weasley was then supposed to have ingratiated himself further to the boy on the Hogwarts Express. Instead, he'd gotten into a physical altercationwith another lad who had apparently already established a friendship with the Potter boy. Albus had been stunned to discover the identity of the person to have attacked the youngest male Weasley child. Neville Longbottom! Would wonders never cease?! The Scion to the Longbottom family that he was acquainted with, was a timid and shy fellow as well as being mediocre – if that – in the area of magical application and completely under the domineering thumb of Augusta Longbottom. In its entirety, Albus had been led to believe that these components in conjunction with one another had subsequently squashed all free will and confidence in the dumpy lad. Apparently, he'd been sorely misled.

When the retrieval of young Harry from Lily Potter's sisters home was imminent, Albus had purposefully sent an Associate-Professor to escort him to Diagon Alley and then, to the train station instead of his Deputy Headmistress. If Minerva had seen the state Harry had been reduced to before the Weasleys had themselves firmly entrenched with the boy via their youngest son, he would have been in for a sound telling off by the formidable woman. Befriending the Weasley lad would have taken some of her ire off of himself although his ears would still have gotten a sound bashing. Minerva was not going to be appeased by the standard responses he'd already had prepared to whatever objections she might have raised. As it was, he would need to re-think that particular strategy forthwith.

The Dagworth-Granger girl had come as a surprise. Being accepted into Hogwarts had been a given considering her parentage. No, it had been how quickly she had latched onto Harry that caused his perturbation. Her parents had been fine people even if her mother had been a Black and they had chosen the correct path for themselves when the time for choosing had finally been upon them. By refusing to assist Voldemort, they had effectively chosen to publicly remain neutral in their allegiance while privately supporting the Light. Yet, their denial had been nothing better than a death sentence regardless of their supposed neutrality. No one declined Tom Riddle and lived to tell the tale. They had been wise to send their only child into the Muggle world for safe-keeping. Otherwise, their daughter would have been used as a bargaining chip in order to sway their decision.

Sighing, Albus took a lemon drop from his desk, popping it into his mouth as he mused on how to best salvage this situation. The clearest avenue to putting his original arrangement back into action would be to meddle with the Sorting. He was hesitant to do so as the Sorting Hat would not take kindly to such a thing yet, for the greater good, it needed to be done.

Miss Dagworth-Granger would be Sorted into Ravenclaw or Slytherin while the Longbottom boy would go into Hufflepuff effectively leaving Harry and Ronald to Gryffindor. Smiling in satisfaction as he sucked on the sour delight of a favored sweet, he nodded. Yes, separating Harry from the other two from the outset was necessary to bringing the Weasleys and Harry into each others orbit of existence and what better way to do so without it looking as if he had played a part in it.

Straightening his rather comical robes and adjusting his half-moon spectacles, the Headmaster made his way toward the staircase leading out of his office snagging a pepper-up potion and downing it in a single gulp; he was going to need a clear head. The Great Hall and the Sorting stool awaited. Pulling the ancient Hat down from the shelving, Albus felt the sentient being bristle angrily between his fingers.

"I understand why you are piqued, old friend but one must make sacrifices in order for all things to fall into their proper place." Behind him, Fawkes let out an unhappy trill. "You too, Fawkes?" After a brief pause, where he contemplated what he was going to do, Albus finally said, "I'm afraid there's nothing else for it. I regret distressing you both, but it must be done."

* * *

Clapping her hands loudly to quiet the growing chatter of the First Years, Minerva spoke over the din. "All right, all right. I understand how excited you all must be, but we are already running behind with the Sorting. So, students if you please, allow me to assist you in lining up alphabetically."

The new denizens of Hogwarts began to be separated quickly and efficiently under the guidance of the Deputy Headmistress. As she shooed yet another youngster into the correct position, she noted that Messers Longbottom and Potter were loath to leave Miss Dagworth-Grangers' side. She appeared to have to do a bit of shooing of her own, sending them on their way with a spirited wave of her hands and a slight frown of annoyance.

Minerva chuckled. The girl was clearly not going to appreciate having two bodyguards hovering about. Still, she understood the boys' reluctance considering the events that had transpired on the Express. That being said, she felt perfectly justified in hoping that all three would be Sorted into her House. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility considering that each one had exhibited clear signs of bravery in defense of one another.

* * *

Severus Snape was unaccountably on edge. As to why that might be, he wasn't all together certain. As he sat at the Professors table sandwiched between the sour librarian who, amusingly enough, tended to flirt with him in an inept fashion and Albert Magnus, who specialized in Alchemy, he felt a growing sense of unease. He was tempted to glance in Dumbledore's direction, but fought it down. The niggling in the back of his mind intensified when the double doors to the Feasting Hall opened admitting Minerva with a formation of new recruits following closely in her wake.

Black eyes zeroed in on the white-blonde head of a girl near the head of the queue. As if feeling his gaze upon her, she turned in his direction, light blue orbs clashing with his own. She gave him a brief nod which he returned. Next, he followed the line of students until his stare rested on Augusta's young charge. His oblong face was as pale as the liquid in the goblet set in front of Severus, clumsy hands twisted anxiously in the fabric of his school robes. He hardly looked the role of 'defender of honor' which was what the portraits had already dubbed him after learning of the circumstances that had the Feast running late.

The Sorting Hat sat atop the three-legged chair in the middle of the room awaiting the opportunity to proclaim the House best suited to each child who plopped their bottoms onto it. These proceedings tended to be tedious and Severus was apt to tune out the monotonous selections, but this year was different. This year Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts. The spoiled beyond redemption son of his nemesis James Potter would no doubt cause trouble much in the same fashion as his father had done while arrogantly strutting these hallowed halls. Potter's spawn was spotted easily enough. That unfortunate hair alone was like a beacon, drawing Severus's stare like a magnet. He felt the bitterness well up, threatening to choke him. The boy was a replica of the bastard who had made life at this school nearly unbearable! With grim satisfaction, Severus resolved to make life as miserable as possible for the brat!

* * *

Hermione knew exactly where she wanted to be Sorted. Her admiration for Professor McGonagall had heightened during the proceedings of preparing to enter the Hall. The way she had organized and whipped everyone into their proper places and how quickly and seamlessly she'd done it, appealed to Hermione's own sense of organization.

One had to be extremely organized while working with Potions ingredients since it was extraordinarily time-consuming and detailed. Intense focus and single-minded concentration of purpose was also a must. These pertinent points had been stringently drilled into her at great length by her Potions tutor. True, she was a natural according to the effusions of said tutor, but the unmitigated value of not becoming over-confident and sloppy in safety or application had been a topic at each lesson. Hermione took these warnings very seriously.

She listened with rapt attention as the Sorting Hat sung its song, regaling them with the fine attributes possessed by each House. Gryffindor where brave of heart dwell… Hufflepuff who are just and loyal… Ravenclaw for those of wit and learning and finally… Slytherin for the cunning folks. By the time the song had ended, Hermione was fairly vibrating in excitement!

Although, wishing to be in Gryffindor, Hermione would be just as pleased to be placed in Ravenclaw like her father before her. Curiously, she wasn't certain if Slytherin would be a good fit even if her mother had dwelled there happily enough. There was also the fact that she doubted very much that Neville would make it into Slytherin and as for Harry, well it was a known fact that everyone of influence in his young life had been Sorted into Gryffindor. Yes, Gryffindor would do nicely for all three of them. Hadn't Neville conclusively proved his bravery and chivalry? Hadn't Harry?

Neville had desolately muttered something about Hufflepuff before being chased away from her. Why he sounded so despairing about the possibility eluded her. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Hufflepuff! Some wonderfully talented witches and wizards had come from that fine House! She'd devoured Newt Scamander's books and had been thrilled to her very bones by each and every one. There was also Bridget Wenlock, a famous Arithmancer of the thirteenth century who first established the magical properties of the number seven! Not to mention Helga Hufflepuff herself! All of them had made critically stellar contributions to the Wizarding World! One would have to be daft to think going into that House was a wasted opportunity!

"Dagworth-Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione tried not to run in her eagerness to get to where Professor McGonagall stood holding the Hat. Instead, she walked with infinite grace and assurance – chin held aloft, shoulders back, spine straight as a needle – doing Nana Gus and her poise and etiquette instructor extremely proud. During her journey toward the Hat, Hermione was acutely aware of the stares and whispers. She didn't let it ruffle her, she knew they were curious and the eyes on her weren't meant to be demeaning nor nasty, just… inquisitive. She fervently hoped that Harry would fare as well.

Giving her a slight smile, Minerva gestured toward the stool saying, "Please be seated, Miss Dagworth-Granger."

Hermione dipped into a small curtsy of respect before climbing onto the stool. Minerva's smile widened. The girl was so beside herself that she could hardly sit still. Barely concealed excitement at the imminent event before her, gave an especially pleasing luster to her eyes while the magic crackled and sparked all around that tiny form, bringing those lovely blonde tresses to glittering life.

Gently, Minerva placed the Hat upon Hermione's waiting head saying in her mind just before releasing the enchanted article, "I wouldn't mind if she were Sorted into Gryffindor."

The Hat took a moment to chew over the Professor's request before saying to the younger witch, "Well met, little Potions Mistress. Interesting… very interesting. You would fit in comfortably in Ravenclaw with such a sharp mind. Although Gryffindor would benefit from your bold ways. Still, Hufflepuff would embrace you for your loyal tendencies and willingness to work hard … and there is still Slytherin to consider. My, my, my, where shall we put such a diversely talented witch?"

Biting her lip, Hermione mumbled inaudibly, "I really like Professor McGonagall."

"Your felicitations are returned, young one. The Deputy Headmistress has recognized your lionistic qualities. Alas, the Headmaster is determined to place you elsewhere."

Frowning, Hermione murmured back, "I don't understand. Isn't up to _you_ to decide my fate?"

"Too true and yet, my brim can be bent to serve his purpose. However, speak to me of your wishes for they too are to be taken into consideration."

Hermione thought for a second and then admitted, "I wish to be where Neville and Harry end up, but since I am the first of us to be Sorted, I suppose I'm laying the groundwork for them to follow. We've become fast friends you see."

"Hmm… I see here that while you wish to be with those young men, that you also believe that being Sorted into separate Houses will not divide you. Correct?"

"Yes," Hermione sighed already realizing where this was going. "Can you tell me why the Headmaster doesn't want me in Gryffindor? He doesn't even know me not mention the unfairness of influencing you unduly!"

Ignoring her question, the Hat said, "You've got grit, young witch but also a wily mind and while Gryffindor would aid you well, for the welfare of your friends, it better be… SLYTHERIN!"

Hermione jumped from the seat with a half-smile which widened when she heard the Slytherin table clapping loudly and beckoning her to join them. As she passed her favored Professor, the woman sent her a look filled with disappointment. On impulse, Hermione took the startled Head of Gryffindors' hand, gripping it briefly while casting her a commiserating expression.

"Go along with you, dear," Minerva said kindly while ushering her toward an older student heading toward them wearing a Head Girls badge on her green and silver robes.

* * *

The day Neville's Gran had corrected Hermione's wording when she'd mentioned the drenched state of her hair as 'sweated' after a spirited lesson with their dancing instructor had been kind of hysterical. Proper ladies, they were both informed with a sniff, didn't sweat – they _glisten__ed._ Neville had asked the wizard who was in charge of his etiquette lessons what proper gentleman did instead of sweat, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall the bloke's answer.

Perspire! Yeah, that's what it is! That's what the etiquette coach had told him. Gentleman _perspired_, but even that wasn't a word to be used in polite company. Apparently, a gentleman had to pretend it wasn't perspiration sliding down the back of his neck dampening the short hairs. Thank Merlin's fuzzy beard that Hermione had thought to cast a drying charm on his clothes in case he did develop a bad case of nervous perspiration. Which, of course, he had because such was his life.

It didn't help matters when Hermione had been Sorted into Slytherin! _Slytherin_! He wasn't a complete moron, he knew it had been a possibility given her mum's history. So, he wasn't so much as horrified that she was now a Slytherin as he was by the fact that there was no way in hell he was going to be joining her in that House. All the desire in this world to be where his friend was, was not going to make it happen.

The Hat would put him where he felt Neville would prosper. He was going to end up in Hufflepuff, it was almost a certainty. He was already preparing for his Gran's reaction to the news – she was going to go mental! – as he shuffled forward, barely cognizant of the Hat on his head until it shouted…. GRYFFINDOR!

* * *

Harry was conflicted. Hermione had been Sorted into Slytherin House and Neville into Gryffindor. From what he'd been told by his new friends, both of his parents had been Gryffindors. But, Hermione was now a Slytherin and weren't the Snakes constantly at odds with the Lions?! And Neville! Oh man, what was he going to do without Hermione?! Harry took a deep, calming breath. Hermione did say that it didn't matter what Houses they ended up in, that they would all stay friends. United! He hadn't known her long, but what he did know was that Hermione Dagworth-Granger was a lady and a witch of her word.

She and Neville were clearly from well-established families along with being best mates. Harry knew that he looked less than respectable to outsiders with his choppy, unmanageable hair, skinny frame and over-sized clothes. Fact was, he looked like the orphan he often felt himself to be. Lost. Alone, and half-starved for companionship as well as for food. Yet, they had taken him into their circle, embraced who he was without a second thought. _Before_ they'd known his identity! They hadn't been after The-Boy-Who-Lived like some sort of weird fans. They were his true friends!

He'd even been invited to Longbottom Manor for the Holidays! These thoughts went a long way into evening out Harry's anxiety. So what if his friends had been Sorted into separate Houses. That didn't make a whit of difference, he told himself firmly, and he was sure that no matter where he ended up it wouldn't negatively affect their friendship in the slightest.

Before he was really ready for it, He heard his name being called by Professor McGonagall.

"Potter, Harry."

When Hermione's name had been called, the Hall had reacted with quiet murmurings, many gazed at her with speculation as she glided across the floor with unconscious grace, but they hadn't been full of suspicion nor anticipation. Whereas, his name was greeted with an oppressive, heavy silence which seemed to carry both of those latter aspects, making him uncomfortably aware of those following his stiff, mechanical movements. A violent shudder slithered down his spine at the notion that some of those stares were not of a friendly nature while others conveyed a sense of the much despised, fevered hero-worship.

He'd finally reached his destination only to meet the sympathetic regard of Professor McGonagall. "Please take a seat, Mr. Potter." Harry obeyed without further ado, attempting to dismiss the students who seemed to be holding their collective breath.

The Hat had barely touched the crown of his dark head than it began to speak. "Oh yes! Aren't you the interesting one?! This may take some time. Miss Dagworth-Granger was just as difficult to place. Your magic is powerful and like the young Potions-Mistress, you would thrive in every last one of the esteemed Houses. Still, I am under duress."

"Duress," Harry questioned quietly.

"Why, by the same wizard who deemed where both your new allies should be placed although I did manage to stymie him a bit there by putting the Longbottom heir in Gryffindor. It was much easier in his case since less of Dumbledore's intent was focused on his emplacement."

"Hermione told us that no matter where we got Sorted, we would remain fast friends," Harry returned, conviction in his voice.

"Did she indeed? She's a progressive little soul, isn't she? The Headmaster means to sever ties with those worthy ones in which you have already joined in friendship. A shame really as they are stout and loyal companions, but you do seem bound and determined to remain loyal to them as well which is a key Hufflepuff trait. Hmm… let me look deeper."

Harry waited, fuming at the thought that _someone _was attempting to control him even here! The Dursleys controlled every aspect of his life at Privet Drive and he'd be damned if the same would apply at Hogwarts where he'd finally made friends and fully intended to experience and embrace his first real taste of freedom!

"Oh ho ho…," the Hat interrupted his thoughts sounding pleased. "you do have a temper and that fiery instinct belongs to the Lions! You are indeed intelligent but not studious enough by nature; you would have to be prodded along but in doing so, reach much of your potential. Alas, without that insistent spurring you would not do so well, therefore I take back my initial prognosis of all the Houses being a fine fit."

"I _want_ to be with one of my friends," Harry ground out with determined ferocity. "I don't give a donkey's ass if an interfering, ancient old fart has it in his barmy noggin to divide me from Hermione and Neville. I have some say here!" The Hat went silent making Harry squirm in his seat. Finally, he added, "I mean no disrespect to you, but it is wrong for someone to meddle with your decision, isn't it?"

"You speak the truth of it, Scion of the Potter lineage." This startled Harry. He was a Scion, like Neville? Did that mean his family had been of similar stature and held in high regard?

"Just so, Scion," the Hat agreed. "Your rightful place has been stolen and denied you by someone who should have had your best interest at heart but thought only of his own machinations."

Harry's thoughts turned angry again. "I will not be controlled!" Magic flared with a sudden, impassioned force and Harry felt a snapping not unlike that of a rubber-band being pulled til it is stretched to beyond its breaking point, then back-lashing violently and painfully onto its the holder. The Hat shuddered under the force. "I respectfully demand to placed with one of my friends, now!"

Harry could swear he could feel the Hat smirking. "Well done, young Lord! You're power has been tremendously miscalculated by those who seek to subvert you and your magic. A rude awakening is forthcoming to all who see fit to maneuver you unwillingly. Guile and trickery, along with a healthy dose of mischief are needed along with guidance to channel your power productively and for that, you will need the young Potions-Mistress and the like, therefore it shall be… SLYTHERIN!"


	5. Interesting Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Feast.

Chapter 5

“Albus, what is it? Are you unwell?”

The man in question said nothing causing a slight frown to etch itself between the finely arched brows of Aurora Sinistra. Things had been going along amiably enough, much like any other year, until she’d noticed a slight change in the Headmasters demeanor when the Longbottom boy had been placed in Gryffindor. Nothing too obvious but Aurora was a keen observer. Staring endlessly at the night skies for any anomalies tended to build observational skills to a relatively high degree. Still, she didn’t think it was cause for concern even if the poor fellow had suddenly been looking less than spritely. No, no cause for concern until Harry Potter had seated himself and the Hat had been taking an inordinately long time in placing him. It was then that Aurora noticed the real change in the Headmaster. His marshmellow-white head flung back so violently that his own hat almost toppled off. Then, he let out a small groan, clutching at an area in his mid-section. Yes, clearly something was amiss.

Reaching out, Aurora placed her hand lightly on his garishly, robe-covered arm. Her frown deepened into genuine concern when she felt the slight tremors wracking his body. What was happening here? Should she call a halt to the proceedings and contact Madam Pomfrey? Looking about for assistance, her dark eyes met the curious ones of Severus Snape. The man was giving the Headmaster a searching look, his black head tilted to the side as he considered the scene in a highly grim manner, yet he did nothing. Merely dismissed the other man with a slight rise to his hooked nose before narrowing those fathomless orbs at the boy climbing off the stool, making his way to a pretty little girl newly Sorted into the same House who enveloped him a bone-crushing hug.

The seriousness of what had just happened crashed down upon her. Harry Potter had been Sorted into Severus’ House! Harry Potter was officially a Snake! This was most unexpected. It had been the general belief that he would be Sorted into Gryffindor like his parents before him. Yet, he seemed happy enough with the outcome smiling widely as the blonde-haired girl scooted over to make room for him. Their linked hands looked made for each other, fitting comfortably as fingers slid into fingers. The voice of the Headmaster broke through her reverie.

“I am well, Aurora. I thank you for your concern. I think perhaps I have indulged in too many sweets and am suffering the inevitable consequences.”

“Are you sure,” the witch asked, attempting to read the other man’s expression but it had transformed into the bland mask she was accustomed to seeing.

“Of course, of course,” he negligently waved off her worry. Rising, his hoarse voice filled the chamber as he made the standard speech about the Forest and the changes in staff members. “Now, let the Feasting begin,” he finished while dropping wearily into his seat.

Aurora decided to take Albus at his word and began to enjoy the vast array of delicacies set before her. Lifting her goblet to her lips, she chanced another glance in Severus’ direction only to discover Madam Pince fluttering her non-existent eyelashes at the man who’s lips were pressed into a tight, put-upon grimace. Aurora’s own lips twisted into a wry smirk. That wizard had the patience of a saint where the librarian was concerned which was astonishing considering he had a hell of an ice-cold temper and did not suffer fools gladly. Sipping her pumpkin juice, she mused that perhaps Severus felt sorry for the witch who had little other than her books to occupy her time.

* * *

Neville desolately pushed his food from one end of the plate to the next. He’d been Sorted into Gryffindor. Whoopee. His Gran would be thrilled. Double whoopee. He thought he’d be excited too, but it was difficult to experience that exhilaration while being depressed that neither of his friends were placed in the same House as he. It was especially disappointing where Hermione was concerned. Yea, sure he and Harry had the beginnings of being good mates, but Hermione had been his _best_ mate for several years. Her support and certainty in him and his abilities had gone a long way to lifting Neville’s self-confidence. Now, what was he going to do without her constant nagging to practice his wand-work and to think better of himself? His Gran was just as tough on him as Hermione, but his friend followed her demands with warm hugs and complimentary remarks that made him _want_ to make her proud.

His Gran, however was stern and forbidding, rattling off his parents many merits while making Neville so nervous that he rarely completed the tasks she set for him no matter how hard he’d tried. Not to say that he hadn’t had his fair amount of successes, they just didn’t seem to be as frequent, nor was he as quick on the uptake enough to suit her stringent standards. It all made Neville horrendously anxious which tended to annoy his Gran to the point that she would stomp out of the room with as much Ladyship stateliness as she could muster while still making her point.

When Hermione had been sent to them for tutelage, he’d been in awe of her natural ability. Strangely enough, he’d never felt jealous nor did he look upon her as some sort of unwanted interloper. From the moment she’d entered the room, he’d been captivated. She was lovely to look at, that was true but it had been her instant openhearted acceptance of him that had won his heart. He would walk into the bowels of Hell for Hermione!

Absently, he shook out his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers, remembering the satisfying crunch that his fist had made as it connected against that ill-bred buffoons’ nose. Somehow _he_ had managed to make it into Gryffindor as well. Joy. Neville had never before lashed out at anyone in such a barbaric manner, but he’d been across the scant distance between him and that twat, faster than spit.

He hadn’t thought of the consequences, he’d reacted instinctively in his need to protect Hermione. Harry had jumped up as well, face set into such rage-filled wrath, that anyone with half a brain (which clearly the dim-witted red-head was _not_ in possession of), would have backed out of the compartment immediately while piling on the apologies.

Neville looked across to the Slytherin table where Harry and Hermione were happily chatting away as they dug into their meals. As if sensing his gaze, they both lifted their heads and smiled at him and Harry even lifted his spoon in a salute. It all made Neville’s fears disappear. They _weren’t _going to abandon him even though they had ended up in rival Houses. Hermione was going to stay true to her claim of unity amongst the three of them no matter what! Suddenly, his appetite returned with a vengeance and he tucked into his own plateful safe in the knowledge that Hermione and Harry wouldn’t forget about him.

* * *

Ron gobbled down his food and to the not-amused dismay of his brothers, a portion escaped dribbling down his chin. Absently, he used the sleeve of his robes to wipe it away, ignoring the disgusted scoffs of the older students. He knew he was embarrassing his family and he couldn’t have cared less. His thoughts were all on The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter was destined to be Ron’s best mate, yet the Hero of the Wizarding World was ensconced with those evil bastards in Slytherin. How was that even possible? Hadn’t his mum informed him that it all been worked out in advance? Hadn’t his mum said that they were going to be Harry’s make-shift family? Meet Harry on the train, she’d said. Make nice and turn the conversation around to how best to navigate the ways of Wizarding-kind since he’d been kept in ignorance. Be Harry’s friendly guide while at the same time explaining the monstrous ambitions and the Dark Lord supporters of anyone Sorted into Slytherin.

It all gone to shite before he’d barely set foot into the compartment. The snooty bint had remarked on the dirt along side his nose and then, like shade of his hair, Ron saw red! How dare she make him look like a fool in front of Harry Potter?! _Harry Potter_!! He’d spouted off the very worst insults he could come up with and while she looked shocked, that fat kid jumped up and came at him, clouting him soundly on the nose!

Through a blur of tears and the agonizing pain, Ron could make out Harry pulling his wand and pointing it at _him_! At _him_?! The jumped-up blonde cow, snagged it out of his hand before Harry could shoot a spell and what was he going to use anyway? The kid knew nothing of magic or spell-work!

It was then that Ron decided to make a hasty retreat. He was going to need to find his brothers to charm the tide if blood gushing down his front. Stumbling backward, Ron had blindly searched the corridor, using his hands as he felt his way down toward where her knew his brothers were seated.

As he entered the compartment, one of them yelled, “Oi, what’d you do to yourself, Ronnikins?”

“I think he ran into one of the walls, oh twin of mine,” contributed the other.

“I need one of you joksters to stop the bleeding,” Ron implored, voice barely comprehensible. “Some bonkers bloke got off a cheap shot.”

Both brothers eyed Ron with skepticism, quite familiar with his temper and tendency to rush in before thinking things through.

Shrugging, Fred said, “I can stem the flow but you’re gonna have to deal with anything broken and swelling when we get to Hogwarts.” Ron agreed with a nod. Fred waved his wand and spoke a spell and immediately, the viscous fluid ceased streaming.

“Want me to cast a Scourgify.” George asked with a devious grin.

Wary of his true intentions, Ron sensibly replied, “No thanks. Can I sit with you guys? I couldn’t find any other compartments that weren’t full.”

Sharing a look of reluctant acceptance, Fred sighed before saying, “Okay, I think our reputations can stand having an Ickle Firstie sitting with us this one time.”

“Great,” Ron said, seating himself, then tried to explain what happened. “The dickwad that landed the lucky shot, came out of nowhere! I mean, there I was minding my own business and… BAM! I tell you what, when we get to the platform I’m gonna teach that berk a real lesson!”

“Sure, sure,” George commented complacently, more interested in discussing the pranks he and Fred were going to perpetrate this year. It was going to be epic!

* * *

Draco tried not to glance down the long table at his new House-mates. Who would have _ever_ expected Harry Potter to be Sorted into Slytherin?! It would be much easier now to follow his father’s wishes of getting to know the other boy. He was supposed to have done it on the Express, but he’d been unable to locate his target. His father had made it clear that he was to take The-Boy-Who-Lived into his confidence and discover where his allegiance lay: To Dumbledore or to the Old Ways.

For the majority of his young life, Draco had found himself conflicted. Both sets of grandparents, along with his father, had drilled into from the time he could understand words, the importance of Blood-purity. His mother had remained strangely silent on the subject but never openly disagreed. This had always confused him, He was well aware that during the First War his father and several other prominent families had followed the scriptures of the Dark Lord.

His gaze drifted to the girl by Harry Potter’s side. There was _no_ doubting her heritage. All that white-blonde hair and grey-blue eyes spoke of a direct line to the Black family. Draco shared similar aspects although his eyes were a smoky-grey. In many ways, this new cousin of his, reminded him of his mother. Clearly, she’d been brought up in the manner fitting a future Lady of the House of Dagworth-Granger. She carried herself with poise and grace with table manners that were impeccable. She presented as the ultimate Pure-blood princess as was fitting for one of her name and Blood-status.

The Dagworth-Grangers talents had become well known for their unparalleled Potions abilities and the Dark Lord had felt that having his own personal Potions Masters would keep him several steps ahead of his enemies. Namely Dumbledore and The Order of the Phoenix. For several years they’d been clever enough to appease him with bits and trifles of potions and the occasional useful one or two. Promises to deliver even more powerful elixirs had been made, but claims of needing more time to perfect them were endless. Still, because they had provided an invaluable potion here and there, it was time which his father’s hero had gladly provided.

In the periphery of his life, Draco had known of his cousins’ existence although she was seldom seen and this had been put down to her parents being so busy in the laboratory. The general consensus had been that she’d been shuffled off to other Wizarding relatives allowing her parents to continue brewing for the Dark Lord. No one questioned the childs’ absence, not even his mother who had, by all accounts, been close to his aunt Cassiopeia.

The ultimate nail in their coffin had been when the Dark Lord had discovered that years before, they’d spirited their daughter _away_ from the Wizarding World, placing her with _Muggles_! This had been enough proof to the Dark Lord that neither of the Dagworth-Grangers intended to give him their true allegiance. Clearly, they’d evacuated their daughter so as not to have her be used as a bargaining chip and assurance of their obedience.

Draco had been almost five years old the day his father had informed them both of the Dagworth-Grangers’ demise. He’d gone on to comment rather blandly that if one was going to attempt to subvert the Dark Lords’ wishes, then one should be prepared to suffer the natural ensuing consequences. Looking back, Draco had found this to be quite a cold, unfeeling attitude on his fathers’ part.

His mothers’ response had been quite the opposite. Seldom had Draco seen such a demonstrative reaction from the stoically beautiful woman. Narcissa Black Malfoy was not one to wear her emotions on the sleeves of her robes. Other than expressing her love and pride in her only son in private, she tended toward passivity. Yet, those stunning features of hers had crumpled into such an obvious state of despair, that it had cut Draco to the core. His strong, unflappable mother had broken down and sobbed.

His father had pursed his lips in disapproval of her emotional break at the news before turning and striding from the room. Draco had flown to his mothers’ side and offered what solace he could. She’d clutched at him, a torrent of tears drowning his shirt until it was practically translucent.

It had seemed like forever before her heart-wrenching weeping abated. She’d conjured up a lacy bit of cloth, dabbed at her red-rimmed, swollen eyes, thanked him with a tender kiss to his cheek and sent him on his way. That scene was indelibly scorched into Draco’s minds eye. Since then, he felt it his duty to protect the woman who showed him nothing but unfailing love.

Patting the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin, Draco wondered if his mother knew that her niece would be at Hogwarts this year. It seemed doubtful as he was relatively certain he would have heard his parents at least mention it if not have a discussion with him about the topic considering how the entire fiasco ended. His father would probably have demanded Draco have nothing to do with the Blood-traitor as he was wont to pass the sins of the parents along to the child. Being brought up in the Muggle household wouldn’t go a long way into doing her any favors in his fathers’ opinion either.

An elbow hit him solidly in the side. Turning to the culprit, Draco glared at the dim-witted Gregory Goyle until the insensible, crooked grin fell away from his rotund features. He and Vincent Crabbe had been glued to his side since the train and Draco wished that his father hadn’t insisted on these improvised body guards. Where was the need? Hogwarts was one of the safest places to be in the entire Wizarding World, wasn’t it? That’s what he’d been told, so why were these goons flanking him? As if sensing his announce, both boys slid a few inches away, giving Draco a bit more elbow room and breathing space.

His thoughts wandered back to the blonde girl. Perhaps he should take the initiative on this stance. Perhaps befriending her as well as Potter would be in his family's’ best interest. He was curious, he could admit that much. He _wanted _to meet her. Wanted to determine for himself what sort of witch she was. From what he’d already gathered, she was a fast and faithful supporter of those she cared for. He’d witnessed the events on the platform with Weasley and Longbottom; the entire student-body had been privy to the conflict. Potter had to restrain her from joining the fray and while the gentle-bred wizard in him was appalled by her actions, the bloke who appreciated fidelity to friends, applauded her.

Flinging one leg over the bench, Draco stood, straightened his robes and made his way down the length of his assigned table. The closer he got to his destination, the more the fluttering in his belly grew. He could feel, actually _feel_ people stop their eating to watch as he breached the distance. He must remain cool, he must remain composed, he must project a confident persona no matter what the turmoil within. Such was the expected conduct of a Malfoy.

He’d rounded the end of the furniture, now noticeably aware that the silverware had gone silent while the whispered mutterings had grown. Draco was but a few steps from the girl when her silvery-gilded head suddenly swiveled, her gaze pinning him to to the spot. This close, the resemblance to his mother was remarkable! Then, she smiled into his stunned eyes and the welcoming warmth in her visage gave him the courage to continue.

Taking a few more steps, Draco bowed low from the waist, saying, “Well met, Cousin.”

For a split second, Draco thought she would ignore his greeting, but then she rose, turned to him, lowered herself into a curtsy and with great charm replied, “Well met, Cousin...”

He hurried to fill the unanswered question. “Draco. Draco Malfoy. We are first cousins from our maternal line.”

Her friendly gaze turned troubled as she stated in a low voice, “Our mothers were sisters.” Biting her lip she hesitated before adding in a voice that shook slightly, “I am unfamiliar with my mother’s relatives, so it is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Cousin.”

Draco released a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. She wasn’t going to repute him and the relief he felt was far greater than what he’d expected. Holding out his hand, Draco addressed her formerly, “If I may?” Hermione placed her smaller one into his outstretched fingers. Just before brushing the tips lightly with his mouth, he proclaimed, “I welcome you on behalf of the Malfoys. May our families stand united in all things worthy.”

Ignoring the stunned gasps coming from the students and not a few Professors, Hermione gave a brief nod of her bright head before saying with gracious equanimity, “I too live in hope that our families differences may be reconciled.”

Draco stiffened slightly. This young witch knew of the history between the Malfoys and the Dagworth-Grangers. Releasing her slender digits, Draco turned to the other new house-mate with the black-eschewed hair and round-rimmed spectacles now standing solicitously by his cousins side.

Inclining his head slightly, he addressed him. “Greetings, Harry Potter. We too are cousins of a sort though distantly related. It is my wish that we too might forge a friendship.”

This was obviously all new to Harry and it took the gentle prodding of Hermione’s shoulder connecting lightly with his own before he copied, the blonde boys lead by nodding his head briefly and saying in an awkward fashion, “Greetings, Draco Malfoy. I will take your invitation of friendship into serious consideration.”

So, The-Boy-Who-Lived was hesitant about his proffered olive branch. He too must know of the history concerning his parents and the Black family and their part in helping the Dark Lord destroy the Potters and the attempt to take the life of a defenseless baby. This knowledge must be disconcerting and so Draco was not as dismayed by his hesitancy.

“Understood. May I endevour to prove worthy.” Draco allowed without giving too much of his dignity and innate pride away to the other boy.

Face softening slightly, Harry added, “I look forward to discovering your true nature for myself without the past blighting my personal experience.”

Draco’s blonde eyebrows shot up at this statement. Potter was being far more generous than was expected considering the circumstances. “That is very accommodating of you, sir. I thank you. After the feast, if you will allow me, I would like to accompany you both to the dungeons where the Slytherin lodgings are situated. Of course, the Prefects and our Head of House will lead the way. I am asking if I may walk by your sides as we venture to our new abode.”

“That is acceptable,” Hermione answered while Harry nodded in agreement.

“Excellent!” Draco’s handsome features twisted into a genuine smile which Hermione returned. Once again, he was struck by the similarities between this girl and his mother. He looked forward to expanding the acquaintance with both these newly discovered family members.

* * *

Severus Snape was all astonishment when Harry Potter was named to his House. He kept this astonishment from showing but took a certain amount of pleasure at seeing Albus Dumbledore’s brief, on display shocked horror. Adding to Severus’ pleasure was seeing his god-son approach the boy and offer friendship which had been tentatively and, with certain conditions, accepted.

The doddering old fool had paled visibly, looking shaken and as if he had consumed large quantities of vomit flavored Bertie Botts’s beans. Severus was hard-pressed to keep the malicious glee from bursting across his face. This was going to be a most interesting year!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Harry and Draco head to the Slytherin dorms and have an interesting conversation on the way. Meanwhile, Dumbledore scrambles to salvage his plan for The Greater Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it's been a while since I've updated the majority of my stories. Right now, I am working two jobs and babysitting my nephew and on top of my two jobs I have been tasked with tutoring 8 teen-aged girls Sundays-Thursdays. Needless to say, I'm exhausted. 
> 
> I hope this update will suffice for the moment. Enjoy.

Chapter 6

Hermione wanted to ask about the two over-grown looking First Years following closely behind the three of them as they made their way down the corridor. She did not, fearing her curiosity would be uncouth, and she simply would not embarrass Nana Gus in such a way. The older woman had worked hard at instilling proper Pure-blood etiquette into Hermione’s repertoire and she was determined to be mindful of those teachings. So, she said nothing to the boy who’s elbow she held onto lightly.

On her other side, Harry had her free hand in a light grasp, squeezing her fingers occasionally as they followed the Slytherin Prefect down into the dungeons. Hermione shivered slightly as the temperature noticeably dropped; it was much cooler than when she’d been in the Great Hall and even the thickness of her new silver and green robes failed to protect her adequately.

The blonde boy next to her spoke quietly. “Once we get into the Common Room, the chill you are experiencing will dissipate. According to my parents, it is quite comfortable even though it is located beneath the Black Lake. There are perpetual heating charms surrounding the main room and the dorms which can be altered to a more comfortable temperature for those in residence.”

Nodding, Hermione remarked casually, “It sounds like a thermostat of sorts.”

Frowning, Draco continued, “I don’t know what that is. Is it a Muggle contraption?”

Taking over the conversation, Harry added, “Yes, and like the warming charms, it can be switched higher or lower to make it warmer or cooler. Of course, this must be done manually whereas I’m going to assume it’s somehow accomplished by magic here at Hogwarts.”

“Quite right, Potter,” Draco agreed with a slight inclination of his head. “House-elves or higher level students with more advanced spell knowledge can change the degree of any room easily enough. Some say the House-elves can do so before the command is voiced, anticipating the need of the students.”

Command? Hermione wondered at the word. Were these poor creatures slaves here at Hogwarts? At Longbottom Manor the interesting little beings were treated almost like family, so to hear Draco express such words as _command_ in conjunction with them, did not sit well with her.

Again, her breeding kicked in and instead of questioning the other boy, she simply stated, “Yes, I do believe Nana Gus has similar charms strewn though-out her Manor.”

Hermione had definite plans on expressing her opinions on this House-Elf business after getting to know the Scion of the Malfoy line better. Manners could only get you so far and she had no intentions of relegating her personal opinions on this subject to the altar of appropriate behaviors of breeding. Not with something of such import as freedom from servitude and abuse.

For generations, the Longbottom House-Elves had been – and still were – treated with respect and affection. She knew that it was not always the case, having heard stories of the mistreatment of their kind from other wizards and witches.

With a puzzled expression, Draco asked, “Nana Gus?”

“Augustus Longbottom,” she explained. “She’s Neville’s grandmother and for the last few years has been in charge of raising and educating me in the proper ways of a lady of Noble birth. She’s really quite wonderful even if she does come across as quite the ill-tempered curmudgeon.”

Draco hesitated before stating delicately, “The Longbottoms have been at odds with the Houses of Black and Malfoy for generations. I could not help but notice that this Neville character was Sorted into Gryffindor.” Draco took a deep breath before continuing. “Also known to be at odds with House Slytherin and its occupants. One might even refer to the two situations as vendettas.”

To Draco’s dismay, Hermione replied non-nonchalantly, “Oh, we don’t hold with such nonsense. Before arriving, Neville, Harry, and I decided that no matter where were Sorted that we would maintain our friendship. As to the Noble Houses in question and past enmity, I cannot say for certain what will happen, but I do know that the Dagworth-Granger House will not be a participant to such egregious ridiculousness.”

Draco marveled at this girls ability to be blind to the facts where House politics were concerned: Noble House as well has Hogwarts House. Very carefully, not wishing to alienate her, he said, “Cousin, I do not think it will be a simple task to bring the Houses together since there are grudges of old keeping them in perpetual counter-balance. To risk such a tricky endevour, I fear, will bring you nothing but heart-ache and frustration.”

Cocking her head to the side, Hermione murmured with resolution in her tone, “Be that as it may, I am determined to try. As for the Gryffindor/Slytherin conflict, I plan on ignoring it and if I am targeted for my unbiased behavior toward them, I am more than capable of protecting myself.”

Chuckling, Harry agreed by saying, “If Neville hadn’t stepped in with his flying fist, Hermione would have blasted that Weasley bloke through the door.” Draco’s blonde brows rose high. “Neville says that Hermione is the most skilled witch of her age. He says that his Gran thinks the same thing.”

Blushing, Hermione exclaimed, “Harry, there’s no need to go about boasting on my behalf. It’s embarrassing and just not done as it shows a significant lack of breeding.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, head held low, clearly upset.

Slitting their fingers together, Hermione whispered, “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have chastised you so sharply. It’s just… I don’t want people to think I’m freakish because I’m a tad more advanced than most.”

Glancing at her shyly through his dark fringe, Harry gave her a small smile. “It’s okay.” Besides, he knew all about not wanting to appear more freakish since it had been pounded into him with regular, painful frequency that he was one such freak. Shrugging he went on to say, “I don’t know much about this whole Noble House business with their manners and stuff.”

With a warm smile, Hermione assured him,“No worries on that score. Restitution from House Longbottom will include that needed knowledge,” Her expression took a troubled turn as she continued, “However, I’m certain that having been raised in a Muggle household will be held against us both. I’ve been exposed to the Magical community these last several years, yet in all probability it will not serve to negate what _they_ regard as a failing with my upbringing.”

With her full attention focused on her friend, she informed Harry gently, “As for you, you will face further difficulties. Not only were you raised by Muggles, but you have been hailed as The-Boy-Who-Lived and are considered a hero by many. On top of that, both your parents were Sorted into Gryffindor and as Draco explained, your present House and that of your parents were continually at odds.”

Harry scowled fiercely at her words. “I don’t care about any of those things! I don’t think I’m anything special!”

Draco snorted, having been raised on the stories of Harry Potter’s supposed greatness. His God-father had made it a point to impress upon him that this boy would undoubtedly be arrogant and attention-seeking with a head swelled beyond imagining. Yet, upon their initial meeting, Draco had been struck by Potter’s less than prestigious attributes. Not only was he pale and scrawny, but that bony frame was adorned with clothing which was tattered and torn along with being far too large. This ‘Hero’ looked as if a stray wind could blow him away. He certainly didn’t carry the attitude of having been the pampered, spoiled, and rich brat his God-father told him to expect.

Hermione, on the hand, had impressed him with her regal bearing, obvious beauty, intelligence and barely suppressed power from the get-go. But, as he watched her bristle at his rudeness toward her friend, their magic began to gather power, coalescing and mingling with each others in exquisite harmony. Draco was of a mind to think that these two together would be either formidable foes or illustrious allies. It was a no-brainer, even to the dimmest, to forge the latter if only for self-preservation sake.

Yes, he would disregard his father’s displeasure and cultivate a friendship with Harry Potter and Hermione Dagworth-Granger. He would stress the benefits: Hermione, regardless of her parents betrayal of both Blood and the Dark Lord, was a Pure-blood from a renowned family of status and wealth. On top of that, she was a Noble-born witch who would be eligible for marriage in a few years. Such an alliance would be to their family’s benefit.

Harry Potter was a Half-Blood, that was true, but so was Draco’s God-father and that had never interfered with Lucius Malfoy’s close relationship with the other wizard. Technically, Potter was perceived as the down-fall of their Dark Leader which honestly, was quite demeaning in its ease considering by all accounts, he had been the most powerful wizard alive at that time only to be defeated by a mere baby.

Draco wasn’t sure where basic truths on Potters exploits began and false legends ended. This would be an opportunity to ferret out the veracity of such claims for himself. Either he was the Hero that the Wizarding World claimed him to be or he was an out-and-out fraud. Regardless, there was no doubting his magical power since the proof of it was buffeting him with vigorous intent. He needed to take steps to calm them both before their emotions allowed their magic to escape unchecked.

“I fear I may have given offense,” Draco began, sounding politely conciliatory. “As restitution may I extend an invitation for you both to meet my parents during the Holidays when courtesy allows you to be relieved of familial duties? Normally, business keeps my father fully occupied and my mother is involved in various charitable organization which take up a great deal of her valuable time. However, Yule has always been a family affair and ample time is always set aside to celebrate and come together.”

With great relief, Draco noted the sudden decrease of magical strength although he could still see the outline of their auras crackling with the aftermath of aforementioned power. The two shared a look and Draco couldn’t help but wonder if they were communicating without words. It was a ridiculous notion on his part considering they had met for the first time on the Express. Still, there was a connection there that would not be lost on the more observant. Draco was many things, but a simpleton was not one of them.

After what seemed like an interminable length of time, Hermione turned back to him and said, “That would be acceptable, but I must consult with Nana Gus first as I don’t know what other plans have been made for us over Yule. Neville plans on owling her this evening regarding Harry’s visit with us at that time, so I’ll ask him to add your request to his letter. Can I get back to you after we’ve heard from her?”

Disappointed that she hadn’t agreed immediately, yet understanding the way things needed to be properly handled, Draco gave a brisk nod of assent and with great surprise, he heard Potter mutter, “No need to ask my relations. They can’t be shot of me fast enough, and if Hermione and Neville hadn’t invited me to Longbottom Manor, I’d be left here at Hogwarts.” The Prefect came to a halt in front of a stonewall, negating any chance of further conversation.

“First, I would like to introduce myself. My name is Terence Higgs, and you will refer to me as Higgs or Prefect Higgs. I will refer to you as Firstie or by your surname. If I choose to get better acquainted with a few of you, my mode of address will change accordingly. If you have any questions or concerns, I encourage you to work them out for yourselves before approaching me. I do not intend to coddle you based on your age since part of being a Slytherin is promoting critical thinking via independence and self-preservation.”

Disregarding the Prefects words, Hermione raised her hand. With an amused quirk to his brow, Higgs said, “I see we have someone intent on asking a question despite my directive.” Hermione’s face bloomed with color but her hand didn’t waver. Curious eyes traveled over her features before Higgs replied, “Very well, ask away.”

“I was wondering about the House rivalries, specifically with Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” Higgs stated with a light grimace before going onto explain. “Others, Gryffindors in particular, would have you believe that our House is an evil House which is patently untrue. We simply do not care to be exhibitionist in regard to our emotions or actions. We are not rash such as Gryffindors; they tend toward the ridiculous in word and deed. We are just as brave as that particular House, but Slytherins think before acting. Generally, when we do act, it’s beneath the radar so as not to get caught or so as not to allow anyone to get the better of us. Intelligence, though associated with Ravenclaws, is expected here as well. So, in essence, a bit of each of the Houses should be incorporated into ours.”

“Even the Puffs,” asked another First Year, sounding appalled at the very notion.

“Of course,” Higgs returned easily. “As stated earlier, Slytherins stick together and while loyalty is a key element in the Hufflepuff creed, it’s expected of you all as well. The difference being, that while we are loyal to our own, it is not at the expense of personal gain nor personal achievement.”

Higgs’ steely gaze encompassed the group. “Personal achievement is paramount. Many of you will go onto head commerce adventures since our minds are geared toward that sort of thing. None of this makes us evil. A few of you might even enter the Ministry since we are also adept at political maneuvering. Again, this makes us enterprising, not sinister. That said, you must all be prepared for the inevitable unpleasantness of the other Houses. Because of this bias against us, we protect our own. This is something that our Head of House will explain to you in much more depth.”

Clearly that was the end of that particular conversation, leaving Hermione most unsatisfied.

“Now, I’m going to tell you the password to the Slytherin quarters. Under no circumstances are you to ever tell anyone outside of your House. Understand?” At their affirmative motions, he continued, “The password is always in Latin and it does change monthly, sometimes more if Professor Snape thinks it’s necessary.” Turning back to the wall, he said loud enough for the First Years to hear, “Nos sumus callidi provocant.”

The new Slytherins gasped as a door appeared before their eyes. Turning once more to the enthralled group, Higgs remarked smugly, “As you have heard, our password is not just a single word, but a phrase. The Head of House felt that something more challenging would be in order. To the best of my knowledge no other House has thought to safeguard their Common areas to this extent. Professor Snape is canny and protective of what is his and ultimately ours by extension.”

Higgs’ tone turned hard as he informed them, “I will only add this: Your Head of House can be your greatest ally or your  very  worst enemy.”  With an obvious gleam of respect in his razor sharp eyes, he added,  “Professor Snape does not suffer fools gladly.  If you remember nothing else, remember that.”

Hermione felt Harry move a slight bit closer. Wrapping her arm around his quivering form, she clasped him tightly to her side. “It’s all right, Harry. Proffessor Snape is bound to see your brilliance, but you musn’t show fear. Fear is the mind-killer.”

“But, I _am_ afraid,” He murmured quietly,

To his complete surprise, Hermione whispered back, “Me too, but  _they_ don’t have to know that.  We can let our guard down with each other, but not in front of them until we are sure of which way the wind blows. You know that Muggle saying: ‘Fake it til you make it’?” Harry nodded. “Good, that’s what we must do.”

Draco, privy to their quiet conversation, could only admire Hermione’s stategy. He had been taught to maintain a stoic, cold expression on his face in the presence of unknown elements whether they be people or situations. Such a look tended to be a form of intimidation; an expression of power as well as a perfect way to show superiority of personage and blood. Draco had seen that very same look on his fathers’ implacable features work wonders. Lucius Malfoy was not a wizard to be trifled with and all who traveled in his sphere knew it.

“Your chosen method shows wisdom, Cousin,” Draco commended, entranced at the ensuing flush of color which settled on her cheekbones. “Shall I confess something to you that no one else is aware of?”

Through the fall of her thick eyelashes, Hermione encouraged him sweetly, “Only if you are comfortable in doing so. I must warn you, while we are family and I understand the importance of family-held secrets, Harry and Neville are also family, and it wouldn’t feel right keeping secrets from them.”

Draco hesitated. Hermione noticed and said quietly, “I truly will understand if you now have reservations on sharing your secret with me. If I meant you ill will, I never would have mentioned Harry and Neville who are both gentleman and wouldn’t ever betray a confidence.”

“Haven’t you just met, Potter?” Draco asked with a confused frown. “I mean, Longbottom you have apparently known forever, so I get your endorsement in his regard, but Potter....?”

“I respect your reservations on Harry,” Hermione allowed before saying with a great degree of confidence, “However, I am an excellent judge of character and I promise you, Harry is every bit the gentleman that Neville is and he does belong to a more than reputable family House. It’s already been decided that Harry will be spending the Holidays at Longbottom Manor where he will get the education so-far denied him.”

Draco was flummoxed. Hermione truly did not understand the emnity that existed between th e family Houses divided by alligience to the “Light” versus those who followed the  rhetoric  of  the Dark Lord.  It appeared as if she had not been privy to the strenuous indocternation that he had  been his entire life. Draco could not fathom Madam Longbottom’s negligence in this area. She harbored no love for his family nor its members. In his father’s eyes,  the Longbottoms were Blood Traitors of the worst kind.

Though beyond idealistic and even slightly ridiculous, Draco made the choice to trust in his new Cousin and breathed quietly into her ear, “Professor Snape in my godfather.”

Hermione’s grey- blue eyes rounded comically. “Really? Do you expect preferencial treatment  because of it?”

Draco let out an inelegent snort. “Hardly. He’s tutored me in the art of Potions making and will probably expect more from me than from you or the others.” Draco missed Hermione’s smirk as he continued. “He’s tough and I’ve heard he is roughest on the Gryffindors in particular. I hope your Neville knows his stuff because Professor Snape has no patience for inadequacy.”

Biting her lip, Hermione’s reply was filled with indulgent humor, “I wouldn’t waste your worry on Neville. I shall share a secret in return. Your godfather is well-known to us both.” She felt the boy start in surprise. “He was commissioned by Nana Gus to give us preliminary lessons although I speculate those lessons were not as indepth as your own.”

It was Draco’s turn for the widened eyes, but before he could form a reply, the dark-haired boy groaned and said, “I’m the only one who’s going to be so behind. I’m clueless of this whole Potions business. How will I keep up?”

Patting his hand, Hermione answered in a kind voice, “Now, Harry you musn’t fret about it. Neville and I will help you until you feel confident in your abilities.”

Spurred on by Hermione’s generosity, Draco said before thinking on it, “So shall I, Potter.”

No sooner had the inviation been put out there, than Draco instantly began to worry over what he had just offered to someone who was for all intents and purposes a stranger and supposed enemy. But then, Hermione gave him such a beauteous smile that Draco’s misgivings were immediately forgotten.

* * *

Albus could not believe the events which had transpired. When he got back to his office, he was going to rip that Hat to shreds. Rubbing ineffectually had his throbbing temples, he tickled the long-familiar pear and entered into a hive of activity. The House-elves were cleaning up after the evening Feast but stopped to briefly acknowledge his presence before getting back to business.

“Excellent, Feast, my friends,” He proclaimed, wincing when his voice came out much louder than he'd intended. Blast this head-ache! “Once again you have proved invaluable in making the students welcome an event to remember.”

The Head Kitchen Elf broke away from the others and said, “We is happy yous is pleased, Headmaster.”

“It was a job well done,” Albus assured him. Clearing his throat, he asked, “I was wondering if I could prevail upon your kindness?”

Cocking his over-large head to the side, the Elf inquired, “Hows can we assist yous?”

“Well, you may not be aware, but this year Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.” Albus waited as gasps of surprise and wonder filled the air along with whispers repeating the young mans name in reverent tones. “I would prevail upon you all to keep a watchful eye on the Hero of the Wizarding World.”

“Of course, Headmaster! It would bes our privileges to watch over the great Harry Potter,” the Elf before him assured the wizard while vigorously shaking his head.

“Thank you, my friends,” Albus replied, blue eyes twinkling. “I think perhaps one of you should be delegated specifically to this task. Which of you will step forward as personal guard to this magnificent young wizard?”

Mutterings and waving hands greeted his question as many Elves strove to gain the Headmasters’ attention for this wondrous request.

The Head Elf looked the candidates over carefully before saying, “Anurag, come.”

An Elf of middle years stepped away from the crowd, walking closer with a proud set to his slender shoulders. Giving the elder Elf a brief nod of respect, he said quietly, “I is happy to serves the great and wonderful Harry Potter.”

“In truth,” the Headmaster intervened, “You would be serving me.” Along with my personal agenda, he thought, feeling much better about the situation. “Discretion is key, Anurag. I ask that Mr. Potter not be aware of your presence at this particular time.” The Elf frowned. “You will report to me all of his dealings with the other students; in particular those of Miss Dagworth-Granger and that of Mr. Malfoy. I have concerns as to whether or not they have our Saviors’ best interest at heart.”

Anurag gave the impression of mulling over the Headmasters words before replying slowly, “I will dos as is requested.”

“Excellent,” Albus proclaimed, clapping his hands together. “You have my thanks. I will leave you now to complete your duties.”

It was with a noticeable spring to the elderly wizards step, that Albus left the Elves to their toiling; smiling in satisfaction as his new plan began to form. The original machinations may have been derailed, but he would still continue to masterfully manage the young mans life and movements. It was his destiny to build Harry Potter into the perfect disposable weapon, and Albus Dumbledore had thoroughly embraced that destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> You're probably wondering why I'm starting a new fic when I should be updating my present ones. I apologize but when the Muse strikes I gotta go with it. I promise that I have started new chapters for the majority of my fics, however I am currently working 2 jobs with tons of over time and watching my 5 year old nephew. Most of the time I'm too exhausted to think let along write. I thank you all for your patience.


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